


Through the Looking Glass

by Incognito



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 43,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incognito/pseuds/Incognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What you see isn’t always what you expect. Another collection of Zutara arcs, written specifically for challenges like Zutara Month! - “He moves in close and her palms suddenly flatten against his chest. For a moment he is frozen, unsure of what to do, but then her chin lifts and she meets his eyes through the hail of rain.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shared Heartbeats

Her fingers claw their way through his tunic with a sense of urgency. She digs them into his chest as she pulls him towards her.

“Don’t you understand?” She shouts through the howling wind and the pelting rain that stings her eyes. “He killed my mother, Zuko! He—” her voice wavers “— _he took her away from me_.”

Her strength leaves her and her once firm hold on him slackens. She glances down at his chest, refusing to let him see the tears in her eyes, refusing to let him see her so vulnerable. But he knows, he sees. Zuko knows all too well what it means to have your mother stolen from you, _because of you_. And because of that shared understanding, he is willing to let her abuse him—to hit him, hurt him, do whatever it takes to quench that inconsolable anger raging inside her heart. However, he also knows that letting go of that kind of anger is difficult. It requires her to be able to forgive herself first.

“I know.” He brings a hand to touch her cheek. “I know.”

But he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing or why. His hand is touching her face; it’s such a warm gesture, far too delicate and intimate a gesture for a man like him to make—not towards someone like her. Not Katara, of all people.

She doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, she brushes her cheek into his palm, closing her eyes as she breathes in, allowing him to comfort her this small way. And he knows—he knows that there is no going back from this.

He moves in close and her palms suddenly flatten against his chest. For a moment he is frozen, unsure of what to do, but then her chin lifts and she meets his eyes through the hail of rain. She is reminded of the sky at sunset—the way his eyes curve like the inside of a glass ball, golden yellow with specks of amber like stars—and she falls into him.

His hands find their way to her face, long fingers travelling from her cheeks up her jaw until they touch her ears, holding her in place. It’s as though he can’t let her get away. He leans in slowly and her eyes flutter shut in anticipation. His nose nudges along hers and their lips meet like charged electricity.

Her lips are soft and warm and wet from the rain. His eyes close as he finally abandons all thought, pressing his mouth firmly against hers. Her lips open hesitantly under his at first, but when his warm tongue awkwardly slices into her mouth, she moans, digging her fingers back into his chest to pull him close. She can’t let him get away.

Then it all begins to fall together in a slow, groggy ascent, and they hold onto each other for support. The return of his kiss is like a pardon for the violence he has wreaked upon her—forgiveness that he has been so desperately seeking. And as their bodies entangle, flushed and heartbeats shared warm, they pay no heed to the elements raging around them. None of it matters now. Maybe it never did.

Without knowing how or why, he realises that she has come to mean something very dear to him, something more than a wrong he needs to right. And she has come to depend on him like no other. He is a man who knows the very nature of her soul. And for the moment their embrace soothes away the terrible guilt that hides behind their hearts.

For now, it is enough.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Challenge:** Well, perhaps not a direct challenge, but the wonderful artist beanaroony drew a Southern Raiders Zutara kiss on tumblr (28/10/12) with the below caption: _What if Zutara happened during Southern Raiders? Just an excuse to doodle some Zutara. I’ll let you decide what they’re saying/what’s happening. =p (I’d freaking love if someone wrote a drabble about this, hint hint. XD)_
> 
> What can I say? Challenge accepted! XD


	2. Paper Cranes

The summer evening comes slowly and sickly as the sun sinks down behind the hills. Twilight comes, soft and languid, and when the half-moon rises, dark purple clouds move across it, obscuring its muted white glow. The entire city darkens and the lights in the palace flicker on at intervals, much like the mild summer lightning that quivers in the air.

Night has finally come, though Zuko isn’t sure of the exact time. He lost track hours ago. He sits cross-legged on the floor with his back against the foot of the bed. He can hear Katara quietly breathing above him, lost in what he hopes is a peaceful slumber.

He does his best not to wake her, so the only light in the room comes from small lamp he has set in front of him; a thin strip of yellow oozing out of the glass and along the rich wooden floor. The flames cast warped shadows across his hands and feet. He sits hunched over, his fingers expertly folding a thin piece of paper: folding the corner diagonally, sharply creasing the material, while moving in a practised sequence.

His forehead wrinkles in concentration as he masters the folds, setting down the finished product before picking up another thin piece of paper. He starts over. It’s a perfunctory act, but he doesn’t dare pause or take a break. He shifts uncomfortably on the hard wood floor that creaks underneath his weight. He cringes at the sound and goes still, hoping he didn’t wake her. Thankfully there’s no movement coming from above, no toss or turn or gentle murmur. She’s still asleep.

He can’t make a sound, he tells himself. He can’t wake her. If she were to wake, it would be the end of his mission. She would slough off the mattress in a grump and pull him back to bed, calling him all manner of names, but mostly a silly, fairy-tale-loving fool. After, when she thinks he’s asleep, she’ll bury her face in the pillow to stifle her cries, staining it with tears.

No, it was best if she didn’t know about this. It would be best for the both of them.

Sure that Katara’s still asleep, Zuko resumes his folding. Sticking out his tongue in concentrated effort, he sets the paper on the floor and folds, making sharp lines and twisting it so that it moulds just right. He’d never admit it, but he’s rather proud of his work. But none of this is about aesthetics or his own menial accomplishments. He does it because he doesn’t like to see Katara cry.

That’s why he’s doing all of this: to make her happy again, to see her smile. A dull, nostalgic pain throbs in his chest. He wonders if he had done this for his mother than perhaps she would have smiled. Perhaps she would have stayed, too.

A soft murmur sounds from above and he holds his breath, paper gripped tightly in hand. Time slows down, measured now in heartbeats, and he waits. There is no movement, no sound. After a moment, he lets out a ragged breath of relief and lifts a hand to his tired eyes, rubbing tenderly. However, this is no time to stop. He has to get this done. Tonight.

The paper jerks as he pinches it, making a triangle shape at the front of the figure. His thumb presses into it, making a neat, deep crease that will hold strong. It has to. He holds the small paper crane up, sadly admiring it in the dying lamplight. Only three-hundred and sixty more to go until everything will be as it once was; only three-hundred and sixty more paper cranes until Katara smiles again.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely based on the very sad and true story, _Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes_. This piece had an ambiguous premise and ending, so I leave it up to you, the reader, to figure out why Zuko was folding a thousand paper cranes. I just wanted to show that side of Zuko that never gives up. :)


	3. Relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following 31 drabbles/ficlets are written for Zutara Month (December 2012). Most vary in genre and length, from drabbles to ficlets to full-blown chaptered arcs. The titles themselves are the prompts. I’m going to attempt to write one every day, so let’s see how long I can keep this up before I’m rendered insane.
> 
> * * *

**relief** : (n) alleviation, ease or deliverance through the removal of pain, distress or oppression

* * *

Ever since she was a little girl, Katara wanted to be a mother. She had delivered several babies in her early teens with her Gran-Gran, and even once by herself. Therefore, she thought she knew what to expect. However, what Katara would painfully come to realise is that no matter how many babies she has brought into this world, no matter how much she has prepared herself, until she’s gone through the experience herself, she can never _truly_ know.

Her first baby is slow, painstakingly slow. Her body has never done it before. It knows it has to, but it isn’t quite sure what to do. Zuko brings in a midwife, against Katara’s wishes. After the first hour of contractions, she doesn’t care.

The midwife suggests several ‘techniques’ to help dilate her cervix, and Katara executes each exercise with dogged determination. She walks around the bedroom, she rolls around on the floor, she even does a few squat-thrusts over a very expensive rug (as Zuko would later inform her). But nothing is making this baby come any faster.

Suddenly the contractions start coming in harder and faster, accompanied with indescribable pain. Still, she doesn’t dilate. By now Katara is screeching profanities that would make a sailor blush with shame, all the while threatening bodily harm to anyone who dares suggest that she practise her breathing.

She begins clawing at Zuko’s arm, growling in a voice that doesn’t even sound human: “You will _never_ touch me again!”

Eventually the midwife suggests Katara take some medicine. It’s some sort of ancient Fire Nation remedy that’s supposed to dull the pain. The woman almost seems hesitant to give it to Katara at first because she is not at the right stage yet; however, Katara is desperate to take the edge off. She begins bribing the elderly matron with presents, promising to become the woman’s new best friend if she will just make all the pain go away.

The midwife finally complies, with additional pleading coming from the Fire Lord himself, and gives Katara the medicine. Nothing happens at first, causing Katara to demand that Zuko move all of his things into a room down the hall—nay, into a room in the opposite wing. However, after a few minutes, Katara’s eyes begin glaze over and her hand is now affectionately rubbing up and down Zuko’s arm as she whispers words of love.

The next thing she knows, she’s pushing. She’s pushing for nearly seven hours. The medicine wears off and Zuko is the first one bellowing for the midwife to forget her station at his wife’s feet and come administer more of that powdery relief—mainly because Katara’s fingernails have managed to draw blood and there’s more talk about him not sharing her bed any longer.

A sip of medicine and several laboured breaths later, Katara is smiling blissfully once more. Her body is already numbing, and now she’s pushing like a champ. Gritting her teeth, she wills this baby to be born.

She vaguely remembers Gran-Gran once telling her that when a woman gives birth to a child, all modesty goes out the window. It’s true. Katara doesn’t care what her husband thinks, or the midwife thinks, or the several dozen guards and servants listening outside her bedroom door. All she cares about is delivering this baby.

Suddenly there’s crying, and it’s not her own. The midwife announces a healthy baby girl, and Katara cries and laughs at the same time. She is so tired, more tired than she’s ever been in her life.

Now there’s a messy, warm bundle of joy being placed in her cradling arms. The baby’s crying. Zuko’s crying too, smiling down at their baby girl. He doesn’t even try to hide his tears, and it makes Katara cry-laugh even harder.

And even though she’s tired, she’s never felt more alive than in this moment. She looks up adoringly at Zuko and then back down at their newborn child. Their love, their family, is now complete. However . . . Zuko still won’t be touching her anytime soon.

* * *


	4. Luminous

**luminous** : (adj) radiating or reflecting light; clear or readily intelligible; brilliant, intellectually; enlightened or enlightening, as a writer or a writer’s works

* * *

_She hears the noise of grinding metal. Katara runs over to a row of bushes and parts them to reveal Zuko’s cutter craft beached on the river bank. She turns to run, but a pirate blocks her path and grabs a hold of her._

_“No! Let go of me!” She bends a water whip and smacks the pirate in the face._

_Distracted, the pirate lets go and she spins out of his grasp before running into something solid and warm. It’s the Fire Prince, Zuko! He holds her fast in his arms, bringing her wrists to his chest._

_“I’ll save you from the pirates.”_

_Katara is barely able to reply before his mouth descends on hers, reeling her back against a tree. It almost feels as if he is devouring her and, despite herself, Katara becomes impatient for more. She lunges forward, surprising him as she not only returns his kiss but deepens it, bringing her hands up to explore his face—_

“Whoa, whoa! What is this?” Katara shakes the parchment in her hands. “What am I reading here, Sokka?”

“It’s my new novel.” He promptly snatches the paper from her fingers. “Since my story about our adventure with the Avatar turned out so well, I decided to write a romance. I heard those sell really well.” He sets the parchment down on top of the stack and looks up at his sister earnestly. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Katara’s hands go to her hips. “You’re using _my_ experiences, Sokka, and you’re telling them _wrong_!” She turns to Zuko. “Did you read this?”

“I—” Zuko lifts a finger as though he is about to raise a defensive point, but then lowers it and his head with humility. “Yes—yes, I did.”

“And your response?”

“I, well, you know—” he’s gesturing lamely with his hands, avoiding eye contact “—I don’t like it any more than you do, but Sokka’s right that this sort of story sells.”

Katara’s eyes narrow dangerously. “What do you mean _you don’t like it any more than I do_?”

“Uh . . .” Zuko pauses and a caged look surfaces in his eyes. “That is . . .”

“Oh, this is great!” Sokka interjects, putting quill to parchment. “I can add something like this in as conflict.”

“Sokka!”

“What?” He glances up at his sister, nonplussed. “It’s just fiction, Katara.”

“But why use _us_?” Zuko asks, shooting a nervous glance Katara’s way, checking for her approval.

“Everyone loves the opposites-attract couple.” Sokka points to his sister. “You’re the plucky chieftain’s daughter from a poor Water Tribe village—” Katara gives him a dirty look “—and Zuko’s the noble enemy prince from the Fire Nation who switches over to the good side, for you.” He throws his hands up in the air with a satisfied grin. “This stuff writes itself!”

Katara lets out a disgruntled sigh before reluctantly nodding. “Fine, just don’t use our real names. And don’t tell Aang about this. Okay?”

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t stop him from reading something that is going to be the best love story ever written.” Sokka leans back in his chair with a smug expression plastered across his face and nods. “This is quite the luminous piece of prose, if I do say so myself.”

“Sokka,” Katara growls, “you’re the _only_ one who’s going to be saying that.”

* * *

But never did it cross anyone’s mind that Sokka’s ‘masterpiece’, _The Sun and the Moon: A Tale of Two Star-Crossed Lovers_ , would go down in the annals as the greatest love story ever written. However, such is the allure of the yin-yang couple.

* * *


	5. Potential

**potential** : (adj) having or showing the capacity to develop into something in the future

* * *

Never in a million years did Zuko think he’d be on the side of the Avatar. Or at least _trying_ to get on the side of the Avatar. More than that, never in his life has Zuko ever experienced anything as singularly draining trying to win over everyone in the Avatar’s little group.

Aang was a given because, well, he’s the Avatar and an airbender and Zuko’s fairly certain that monks aren’t allowed to hold grudges. Toph was relatively easy since she wasn’t part of the group when he had been stalking it and, more importantly, she just plain didn’t care. Sokka was easy to convince after he helped him free his father and girlfriend from Boiling Rock, which quickly placed Suki in the indifferent pile. But Katara—Katara is another matter altogether.

The simple (and sad) fact of the matter is that Katara makes Zuko nervous. The way she talks to him (or doesn’t talk to him), the way she glares at him and blames him for everything, even for saving her life, has caused him to develop a rainbow of ulcers. There’s just no pleasing the girl. Matters only seemed to exacerbate after Azula’s attack on the Western Air Temple, and now she looks at him as though he’s to blame.

They eventually end up camping on some rocky hill in the middle of nowhere. Everyone is safe and happy—well, almost everyone is happy. Seated around the fire, everyone digs into their meals and chats animatedly.

“Wow, camping,” Aang says almost wistfully. “It really seems like old times again, doesn’t it?”

Zuko smiles, breaking a biscuit in half. “If you really want to feel like old times, I could, uh, chase you around for a while and try to capture you.”

Everyone laughs; everyone except Katara.

“Ha-ha,” she says dryly, giving Zuko a dirty look.

“To Zuko.” Sokka suddenly raises his cup in toast. “Who knew after all those times he tried to snuff us out, today, he’d be our hero.”

Almost everyone raises their cups in cheers.

“I’m touched.” Zuko smiles warmly. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Yeah—no kidding.” Katara glares at him and then she’s up on her feet, leaving the circle as quickly as possible.

“What’s with her?” Sokka raises an eyebrow in curiosity, and Zuko stands up.

“I wish I knew.”

He doesn’t even know why he’s following her. All she’s going to do is yell at him again, but he has to find out why she hates him so much. He _needs_ to know why she can’t accept him.

After a while, he finds her sitting near the edge of the cliff. The full moon is shining brightly above. She notices him at once and gets up to move, but he boldly blocks her path.

“This isn’t fair,” he blurts out. “Everyone else seems to trust me now. What is it with you?”

“Oh, everyone trusts you now?” Katara places her hand on her chest. “I was the _first_ person to trust you, remember? Back in Ba Sing Se. And you turned around and betrayed me!” She takes in a deep breath. “Betrayed all of us.”

Zuko can feel his own guilt eating a hole in his gullet. He raises his head, entreating. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

“You really want to know?” Her blue eyes flash dangerously in the moonlight and she takes a step towards him. “Hmm, I dunno. Maybe you could re-conquer Ba Sing Se in the name of the Earth King or, I know—you could bring my mother back!”

She storms past him and Zuko watches her go with sad eyes. He has hurt her, this he knows. But her feelings of betrayal run deeper than the events that transpired underneath the city of Ba Sing Se, and he’s going to find out what and why. He will find the catalyst and he will help her. Not just for himself, but for her.

* * *


	6. Change

**change** : (n) the act or instance of making or becoming different

* * *

Things were supposed to get easier when he returned home to the Fire Nation. _Life_ was supposed be easier. But nothing is easier, at least not for Zuko. He made the choice to ‘redeem’ himself by betraying his uncle, but he doesn’t feel all that redeemed. Not even close.

Everything that once seemed so black and white is grey now. Nothing is simple anymore, and he’s not sure if there ever was a time he believed that. There’s so much anger in his heart, so much guilt, that he feels like he’s going to snap from the strain of it all. However, when he goes to sleep at night, it’s not his uncle’s face he sees; it’s hers. That damn water peasant.

All he really remembers is her eyes. Blue like the ocean. They stare at him accusingly. They are eyes filled with betray.

It’s all so strange, he thinks, watching the images splinter in his mind like shards of glass. He tries not to sleep in hope that will help, but it doesn’t. Even when awake, he can hear her voice next to his ear.

_“I thought you had changed!”_

“I have changed,” he whispers.

His thoughts become frayed, and he feels like abandoning it all. But then her voice comes through like a promise too delicate to say aloud.

_“Maybe you could be free of it.”_

Can he?

He can’t ever be sure of anything anymore, but he knows that he can no longer sit back and pretend that nothing has changed. Because everything has changed, especially him.

* * *


	7. Serenade

**serenade** : (n) a complimentary vocal or instrumental performance given to honour someone or express love

* * *

It’s been a long time since Zuko has been to his family’s villa on Ember Island; so long that he finds the whole experience oddly nostalgic. Everywhere he goes, he finds something that reminds of his past, even the golden curtains in his room that he and Azula used to hide behind when his mother played hide and seek with them.

Gilded lamps and ceilings inlaid with brass fretwork polished to a golden gleam are now all tainted and dusty, a reminder of what once was. More than a few items have gathered dust over the years and, in one of the cupboards in his old room, he finds something he hasn’t seen in years.

“Wow, a pipa.” He picks up the pear-shaped instrument and turns it over in his hands. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this.”

He’d always been so adverse to Music Night while travelling on the sea, but in his youth he loved to strum along with his uncle. They’d sing songs and share laughs. Seeing the old lute brings back memories, bittersweet ones of his uncle, and he sighs. He never thought a stupid pipa would make him sad, but it’s better than a tsungi horn.

Setting his mouth in a determined line, Zuko picks up the pipa and sneaks outside. He skulks around the bushes, trying to find a deserted place and an empty patch of land to sit on. He eventually finds a spot and sits down, positioning the pipa on his lap and begins plucking at the silken strings. It could do with some minor tuning, but it’s playable enough.

Zuko searches the recesses of his mind and suddenly remembers an old song his uncle taught him, _Lily of My Heart_. He runs his fingers over the strings and presses them against the frets while he strums against the rosettes with his other hand. The song is a simple three-chord melody, easy enough to play, and he finds himself quietly singing the lyrics while he plays.

“What are you doing?”

Zuko’s fingers stop, wrapping around the neck to cut off all sound, and he glances up to see Sokka. The Water Tribe warrior is absently holding an apple and staring down at Zuko with a look of baffled wonderment etched across his face.

Whipping the pipa behind his back, Zuko feigns an unconvincing look of indifference. “Uh, nothing.”

“Right,” Sokka draws out the syllable. “So you’re doing _nothing_ underneath my sister’s window.”

“What? Your sister—” Zuko jerks his head up and notices the window above him “—Katara is sleeping in that room?”

Sokka takes a bite out of his apple with a nod. “Yup. And you happen to be doing nothing, which sounded a lot like playing a love song on that instrument you have hidden there behind your back, underneath _her_ window.”

“I—I—”

“What’s going on?”

Now Suki has joined them, and Zuko face has flushed a scarlet red to match his scar.

“Zuko’s trying to serenade my sister,” Sokka informs the Kyoshi Warrior.

Zuko is suddenly up on his feet with pipa in hand. “What? No, I wasn’t!”

“That’s kinda sweet,” Suki says, a sly smile curving at the corner of her lips.

Zuko thanks the spirits that it is too dark out for anyone to see how flushed his face really is right now.

“I know, right?” Sokka smiles at Suki, speaking through a mouthful of apple, before pointing a warning finger at Zuko. “But don’t you go around thinking that singing my sister songs is a free pass to do whatever you want. Our tribe has customs too, you know.”

“Customs?” Zuko’s mind is reeling at the possible implications. “B-but, I wasn’t. I’m not—”

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Sunshine,” Toph chimes in from out of nowhere. “So boldly crooning outside Sweetness’ room.”

Zuko jumps back and raises his hands defensively, as though he just got ambushed (and maybe he did). “Where did you come from?”

Toph saunters around the corner and joins the other two. All three of them now are standing beside each other and grinning eerily at Zuko.

“Listen—” Zuko throws up his hands in surrender “—I was just practising the pipa.”

“Outside my sister’s room?”

“And you just happened to be playing a love song?” Suki adds, to which Sokka smiles approvingly.

“Ahba? Guhba?” Zuko is at a loss for words; he’s speaking gibberish now and he worries that they might have actually broken him.

“You guys might want to ease up on the questioning,” Toph informs them with feigned concern. “His heart is racing faster than a long-eared rabbit in heat. I don’t think he can handle much more talk about his love for the Sugar Queen.”

The three share a giggle at Zuko’s expense and suddenly the Fire Prince is throwing his hands up in the air, screaming at the sky. He storms off in a huff, trying to ignore the sound of their laughter, when he bumps into Katara.

“Sorry about that,” she says, offering him an apologetic smile. “Oh, hey, Zuko, I was looking for you. I wanted to ask you a question.”

Zuko’s brow wrinkles into a confused V. “What is it?”

“Well, I heard some music earlier outside my window and I was wondering if you could tell me the name of the song.”

“It’s the only song my uncle taught me, all right!” Zuko blushes several shades of crimson before rushing past her.

Katara turns to watch him stalk off, a bewildered expression on her face. “Okay then . . .”

Once out of sight, Zuko throws down the pipa in exasperation and skulks off to his room. He knew he should have picked up the tsungi horn.

* * *


	8. Desired

**desired** : (v) to strongly wish for or want something or someone

* * *

Zuko is lying on his side, his eyelashes fanning out across his skin like whip-marks. Katara can’t help but smile as she watches her husband sleep, the way his mouth relaxes and how the lines on his face just seem to fade away. He looks at peace.

She is struck by how exquisite he is, even in advancing age. The subtle threads of silver that lace his temples give him a distinguished look, and she reaches out, slicking the tips of her fingers over the baby-fine hairs. He makes a soft noise in his throat and her fingertips glide over his eyebrows, his eyelashes, the ridge of his nose, until they settle on his soft lips.

His golden eyes open.

She smiles softly at him and slides her fingers back into his hairline, watching as his eyes roll back into his head with every gentle ministration. He hums under his breath and opens his eyes again, meeting her gaze, before mimicking her actions and spearing his long, thick fingers through her chestnut hair that has its own fair share of silver threads.

He loops a miscreant curl around his middle and ring fingers and tugs gently. Katara laughs softly and then judders; closing her eyes as he releases her hair and spreads his wide hand out to the back of her head, drawing her in close. Their lips meet—they know the way—and she reaches up to cup his cheeks, her thumb grazing along his scar, as she deepens the kiss.

He sighs into her mouth as his palms find her waist, pulling her body on top of his. Daylight pours into the room through half-opened curtains and she tumbles on top of him, grinning into the side of the mouth. She thinks that no matter how much time passes, no matter how much age will change them, she will always desire her fire prince and their early morning kisses.

* * *


	9. Pride

**pride** : (n) consciousness of one’s own dignity

* * *

The annual five-day winter games at the South Pole is an event enjoyed by men and children of all ages. There are dog sled races, ice fishing, otter-penguin sledding, eating contests and even zebra seal hunting. No bending allowed, by decree of Chief Sokka!

The Polar Games, as they are often referred to, have gained unprecedented popularity and prestige since the end of the war. People from all over the world travel to the South Pole to participate in the event. However, this is the first year a firebender has participated; or, more specifically, this is the first time a Fire Lord has been invited to enter the competition.

Against his better judgement, Zuko lets Sokka convince him to enter the games. Of course, if he’d known how insanely competitive Sokka can get when it comes to sports, Zuko would have never set foot on the icy continent. But he joins in the games all the same, despite the fact that it’s completely out of his element, both literally and metaphorically, and finds that while he’s average at some events, he’s downright pathetic at others.

The last event of the evening is called ‘build your own igloo’, which sounds simple enough, yet it really isn’t—at least not for Zuko. Each contestant has until sunset to finish his construction. The judges then tally and total each participant’s scores for the entire week and the overall winner is announced the following evening.

Zuko, who is behind yet again, is working late into the night. The moon above is his only source of light as he toils relentlessly in the bitter, unforgiving cold.

“I thought you were going home,” Katara says, watching Zuko cut misshapen blocks with his saw-knife while cursing colourful expletives she’s never heard before.

“I am home,” he mutters, placing the block of snow next to the others. “I’m just feathering the nest.”

“I can see that.” She hides her grin behind a gloved hand and then points down at the semi-circular structure. “So is this your igloo?”

“What does it look like?” Zuko snaps, carving out yet another oddly-shaped block.

“A dirty pile of snow?” She shrugs and then slowly circles his encampment. “You do know that igloos are different from children’s snow-forts, right?”

He stops his sawing and pitches Katara a dirty scowl. “No comments from the peanut gallery. Shouldn’t you be saving baby seals or something?”

“Hey, I came to check up on you.” She brings her other arm around from behind her back, revealing a large mug in her hand. “If you don’t want this cup of tea, I can take it to someone else.”

“No, wait!” He’s already on his feet. His cheeks are already flushed from the cold. “I could really use some tea right now. I’d like to wash the taste of sea prunes out of my mouth.”

He makes a face and Katara laughs, handing him the cup of cold tea, which he quickly heats in his hands. He’s not supposed to use firebending—Sokka made that perfectly clear about a half dozen times before and _during_ the games—but Zuko figures heating his tea this one time won’t help him win the last event of the games.

He brings the jasmine tea to his lips and smiles as he drinks. The hot liquid coats his stomach and warms his frostbitten skin. Katara takes a seat next to him on the snow and glances over at his awkward pile of snow blocks.

He winces. “It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

Katara shrugs uncertainly. “It’s not bad for your first try.”

“Yeah,” he agrees without much conviction, before taking another sip of tea. “Sokka’s already done, isn’t he?”

“He finished hours ago,” she says. “He’s already back at the hut, bragging.” She places her gloved hands on her thighs and looks up at the star-studded sky. “Sokka always wins these things—mainly because he is the oldest boy in our tribe and girls aren’t allowed to participate.”

Zuko snorts. “Yeah, you’d definitely win this thing if you were in it, bending or not.”

Katara offers him a warm smile before punching him affectionately on the shoulder like Toph would. Except Katara’s punches are actually gentle and playful and won’t leave a bruise on his arm the size of her fist the next day.

“You know—” her voice is an upwards inflection and Zuko just knows he’s in for one of those hopeful, optimistic pep talks “—for a firebender, and for someone who isn’t used to the cold and the snow, you’re doing a lot better than most people here thought you would.”

Zuko rolls his eyes at the backhanded compliment. “Gee, that’s a comforting thought.”

“But I’ve had faith in you all along,” she says with that beaming smile of hers, and Zuko’s ears begin to burn. “You really don’t give up.”

He nods shyly at the compliment and then tips back his cup, draining the last of the tea. “Well, I had better get back to work.” He stands up and hands her the cup, their gloved fingers touching. “Thanks, Katara.”

“Good luck, Zuko.” She says it with absolute sincerity, and he’s appreciative of that. But then a mischievous grin surfaces on her lips. “I may or may not kick a hole in Sokka’s igloo on my way back.”

Zuko laughs, a hearty bark of laughter, and watches Katara turn. She curtly waves to him before trudging down the snowy path back to her hut. He’s suddenly very thankful that he’s never been in direct competition with her. Sokka he can handle. However, his pride would never recover from the thorough ass-kicking that Katara would likely give him.

* * *


	10. Prejudice

**prejudice** : (n) preconceived opinion that is not based on reason or actual experience

* * *

“If you could just talk with her, Master Katara. Convince her that marrying this boy is wrong. The child I can accept, but a Fire Nation boy—a firebender at that? No, I just can’t.”

As the head healer at the South Pole, Katara is used to dealing with angry mothers and teenage pregnancies. This girl, Jena, isn’t the first to turn up pregnant as the result of some date-night wrestling match, but she is the first to have done so with a Fire Nation boy. What make matters worse is that the boy, Kenji, is one of the cultural exchange benders. While the programme itself has been praised as a cultural strengthening success, a lot of people still question its merits. The four nations are supposed to be learning about one another’s cultures, not one another’s bodies.

As both friend and diplomatic advisor to the Fire Lord and the Avatar, and who jointly created the cultural exchange programme, Katara has inevitably become caught in the crossfires. Parents complain to her about the Fire Nation boys being fresh with their daughters and teenagers argue bitterly with their parents as a result of their overbearing parenting. It’s a volatile situation.

When Jena’s mother, Sena, originally found out about her daughter’s pregnancy, as well as her fraternising with a firebender, she tried to lock the girl in her room. But Jena escaped and tried to run away with Kenji. They didn’t get far before they were caught by locals and returned home.

“Jena.” Katara addresses the girl gently but firmly, ignoring the probing mother. “Did Kenji ask you to marry him?”

The girl looks up with tears in her eyes and nods slowly. She pulls out a familiar-looking necklace from her pocket and her mother immediately tsks at the sight of the carved stone.

“He made a betrothal necklace for me, but Mother won’t let me wear it.”

Katara nods sympathetically and places a warm hand on top of the girl’s. “Do you love him?” There is another angry tsk from the mother, but Katara ignores it. “Do you want to marry him?”

Jena looks over at her mother and frowns before turning back to Katara and nodding once more. “Yes, I do. I love him.”

“Jena! How could you possibly love someone like—”

“Enough.” Katara raises her hand, effectively silencing the older woman. “Love is blind; it does not share our earthly prejudices.” Her eyes soften. “And that is why you must let your daughter follow her heart.”

Sena squeaks in protest, but Katara’s hand is still in the air.

“Neither of you wanted this, but such is fate sometimes.” Katara turns to the mother. “You may not like your daughter’s actions or her decisions, but you must try to respect them as her mother, and be there for her.

“I know what it is like to not have a mother. I know what it is like to love someone that others do not approve of. It makes you feel very alone and isolated. And now that your daughter is bringing new life into this world, she needs you more than ever. You must be there for her, to guide her through these difficult times.”

“But, Master Katara, this boy—”

“Do not disapprove of Kenji simply because of where he was born or who he is.” Katara reaches out to Sena. “Will you love your grandchild any less? Will you love your daughter any less?”

Sena slowly shakes her head, her eyes downcast. “No.”

“Then be there for Jena,” Katara says softly. “Be there for your daughter and your grandchild. They need you more than you could possibly realise.”

Sena tries to prevent her bottom lop from wobbling, but it’s too late. She lets out a shuddering sob and leans towards Jena. The mother and daughter tightly embrace, sobbing silently on one another’s shoulders. Katara sits back and watches them with a sad smile.

“Well,” Sena says with a determined sniff before wiping away her daughter’s tears, “let’s properly introduce this boy to your father, then.”

Jena smiles a hopeful smile and both women rise to their feet. Katara leads them to the door, drawing back the curtains. Kenji is already waiting outside. His heart is worn so plainly on his sleeve that it makes Katara smile. Jena looks up at her mother for approval and Sena nods slowly. In a flash Jena is lunging forward, leaping into a bewildered Kenji’s arms.

Katara watches from the doorway. She cannot make out their words, but she can see the beam of happiness on their faces. Kenji is bowing so lowly to Jena’s mother that Katara wonders if he’s going to topple over. Jena then hands him the betrothal necklace and Kenji nervously slips it around her neck, planting a chaste kiss to the hinge of her jaw.

It’s then that Katara’s smile falters. The image of her own belly swollen while Zuko stands behind her, holding her close, flits through her mind. She lets out a long, protracted sigh and turns back inside, letting the curtains close behind her. If only she had the sense to stop running so long ago; maybe she too would know this kind of peace.

* * *


	11. Affliction

**affliction** : (n) something that causes pain or suffering

* * *

Katara rarely gets sick, least of all from a cold, and definitely not when she’s living in the South Pole. The belief that cold weather breeds viruses is a common misconception. In fact, the dry, freezing air tends to kill any pathogens that manage to survive outside a host. The real reason why people catch colds in the winter is because they spend more time indoors with one another, allowing the viruses to multiply and spread.

Katara thinks she may have received this cold from one of her patients, though she can’t be sure. What she does know is that she cannot heal the common cold, and that fact makes her grumpy. What makes matters worse is that Zuko arrived today for his annual visit; to check out the progress she’s made with her teachings. However, instead of being shown around the village, Zuko is currently inhabiting her tiny little hut, doting on her like a mother turtle duck.

She thinks she must be dreaming because the image of Zuko mothering her is just far too bizarre to be reality. Despite the warmth of her hut, he is still wearing his coat, and draped over that is one of her aprons, which looks far too tight on him. In fact, she’s fairly certain the strings aren’t even done up at the back. She would laugh at the image, if she had the energy, or if the effort wouldn’t make her cough up her insides. She ends up coughing anyway, from the strain of trying to hold it in.

“Stop dying over there!” he calls from the kitchen, before peeking his head around the corner. “You know I’m doing all this for _your_ health, not mine.”

He sounds so disgruntled and looks so out of place in her home that this time Katara has to laugh. She simply can’t help herself, sick or not. After hacking up half her lungs, she finally settles back down, only to hear more loud grumbling from the kitchen.

“I never pegged you for the domestic type, Zuko,” she croaks past a weak smile. “This is new and exciting information to me. Wait until Sokka hears about this.”

Zuko doesn’t even need to turn around for Katara to know that he’s rolling his eyes. She can hear him stumble back into her small kitchen, bumbling about with the grace of a club-footed komodo rhino. There’s some loud clanging and then there’s a crash, and she thinks he may have broken something from all the swearing she hears, but waking up to extra blankets piled on top of her and him cooking her homemade soup is more than worth the eventual clean-up.

“You act like it’s a wonder I know how to dress myself.” Zuko steps out of the kitchen and places a steaming bowl of soup next to her. It smells fantastic and spicy, but the thought of food right now makes her want to retch. “I was on my own a lot, not only at sea but when my uncle and I were on the run in the Earth Kingdom. I even spent some time by myself. Had to cook my own meals. How else do you think I’ve survived this long?”

Katara ponders this for a moment and smiles. “You conned pretty girls into cooking for you?”

Zuko’s eyes widen slightly before he shakes his head. “You’re terrible. You have absolutely no faith in me.”

Katara just laughs, a sickly laugh that quickly escalates into a coughing fit. Zuko sits her up and gently pats her back, like a parent would do for his child. He then reaches over and picks up the bowl of soup, setting a cloth underneath before handing it to her.

She smiles her thanks and takes the small bowl, and now she can’t stop smiling. This is a side of Zuko she’s never seen before and, for some damnable reason, it makes her heart swell. It’s like he’s let her into a secret part of his life. It’s moments like these that she sees the real Zuko, the man behind the crown; the insecure yet loving boy who only wants to do good. I

“No, seriously, Zuko, you’re doing fine.” Katara begins coughing again, and Zuko tips the bowl to her lips, indicating that she should drink despite her protesting stomach. “At least you didn’t bring me frozen frogs to suck on.”

He gives her this weird, disgusted look, probably the same one she gave Aang when she found out she was sucking on a frozen frog. She laughs, despite the consequences, and breaks out into another raspy coughing fit.

“Never mind.” She pats his knee. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you another time.”

She burrows into his side, making herself as comfortable as possible while she takes slow sips of her soup. Zuko awkwardly puts an arm around her shoulders and she smiles again. Maybe she should get sick more often whenever Zuko comes to visit. She can certainly handle being mothered every once in a while.

* * *


	12. Intimacy

**intimacy** : (n) close familiarity or friendship; closeness

* * *

She’s dressed in white and he slides reverent hands over her like a whisper through delicate silence. The fluid folds of her dress cling to her frame, draping down her legs like water. He traces the fabric’s edges with fingertips that skim along the low dip at her back, exploring the silky expanse of exposed skin. Her hair is loose from its braid and falls freely around her face like feathers, woven through by the calloused fingers holding her still.

He pushes the straps of the dress down over her shoulders and layers kisses on warmed skin. Her slender fingers clench onto his shoulders and pull him close, her chin lowering as her soft lips seek his. She wants to feel his love against her lips, against her skin, beating against her heart.

His kisses are long and languid. They don’t seem to stop. Soon after there’s a tangle of hesitant hands and shed clothing and shifting gravity that pulls them together and sets their world on fire.

Heat rises between them, licking at their skin, and spreads its sweet torture beneath a slow-burning haze. He’s shy at first, reverent in her beauty, and then impatient. His hands go to her waist, pulling her close, hips touching. There’s nothing between them but naked flesh, their bodies pressing intimately against each other. Holding. Wanting.

Feet slide and shuffle along the floor, a ritual dance, until they are backing into the bed. He eases her down, trailing hot open-mouthed kisses along her throat, and she moans. Sighing into his hair, she knows; he knows.

This is love.

* * *


	13. Snow

**snow** : (n) atmospheric water vapour frozen into ice crystals and falling in light white flakes or lying on the ground as a white layer; (idiom) to snow someone: to burden someone with something

* * *

 

**Journal of a Very Cold Fire Lord**

**Day 1**

 

I’ve finally made it to the South Pole. I’m trembling with joy—no, wait, that’s hypothermia.

Dear Agni is it cold here! Not chilly or a little cool. It’s testicle-freezing cold. No wonder there are so many little kids running around here. The adults have to do something to distract themselves from the insanely frigid temperatures and keep themselves warm.

I never thought I’d be back here again, not without my stupid ponytail and the insatiable need to chase a bald kid with an arrow tattoo on his head. Speaking of bald kids, Aang’s the reason I’m here to begin with. Katara needed some help setting up her waterbending school and the Avatar’s busy with Avatar duties. Sokka’s busy with whatever Sokka does and Toph didn’t want to get frostbite on her feet. So that just leaves me.

Technically I’m supposed to be busy with Fire Lord duties, but I’ve been given a two week vacation. I guess this is where I’ll be spending it. Hooray for me! Happy days. Hopefully my balls won’t get frostbitten (which apparently aren’t nearly as important as Toph’s feet).

They all owe me, _big time_.

* * *

**Day 2**

 

It’s great to see Katara again. She looks happy and full of life. Teaching is really one of her passions and she’s good at it. It sounds cliché, but I’m happy to see her happy. The only trouble is that there’s this guy hanging around her. All. The. Time.

The guy’s name is Natook. He’s around my age, kinda handsome (I assume so since all the girls fawn over him and retreat from me like I’m some creature from the Black Lagoon). He’s also a master waterbender. Worst of all, he’s taken a shine to Katara. He’s helping her out with the school and, quite frankly, I don’t trust him.

Since Aang and Sokka and even Hakoda aren’t here, I’ve taken it upon myself to be the protector of Katara’s virtue. What can I say? I’m a wonderful friend.

That’s right, Natook—I’ve got my eyes on you, buddy. Keep your hands and your eyes to yourself!

* * *

**Day 3**

 

There’s so much to do here, Katara tells me. What with the horizontal snow and fifty guys all seated around some stupid hole in the ice, fighting over seal jerky. Yeah, so much to do here, like freezing my balls off.

For dinner I had something called stewed sea prunes. The air in my mouth tastes better than this stuff. Katara says they’re an acquired taste, but I’m not going to be acquiring anything like this ever again if I can help it. I had to scrub my tongue for at least a half an hour just to get rid of the slimy feeling. I’d rather eat the yellow snow, thank you very much.

* * *

**Day 4**

 

Katara introduced me to her students today. The little ones.

Children—I just don’t do well with them. They make me uncomfortable. You know what they remind me of? Midget drunks. The talk gibberish all day, like drunks; they eat the weirdest food (off the floor), like drunks; they have no sense of balance, like drunks.

I swear not a single one of them can walk a straight line. They always seem to find that one radial plane that takes them right into the side of a wall where they repeatedly bang an eye against.

And why are they sticky _all the time_?

Needless to say, Katara hasn’t invited me back to help her with the little ones. Score one for me.

 

**Day 5**

 

If I ever meet the person who decided that stewed sea prunes are an edible dish to serve guests, I’m going to kick him to death. I swear this stuff keeps reproducing on my plate.

 _Mmm, yummy!_ I keep telling Katara. But I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. It tastes like feet—Toph’s feet.

* * *

**Day 6**

 

Tonight I will eat something that has two colours in it! Or at least that’s what I’m convincing myself.

In other news, I think Katara’s onto me. Somehow she figured out that I’m trying to scare some sense into Natook—the kind of sense that involves him keeping his relationship with Katara as platonic as possible. Of course she had to ruin it by charging at me, flinging that finger of hers in my face and poking it into my chest, telling me that I have no business to talk to Natook like that—blah, blah, blah—and that I’m not her virtue keeper. Blah, blah, blah.

So I told her that she dramatises every little thing. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was asking if it ever occurred to her that she isn’t the centre of my existence.

Yeah, I’m _really_ stupid sometimes. I’m still trying to drain the water out of my ears.

* * *

**Day 7**

 

I was finally given the secret to surviving the bleak cold of the South Pole: potato alcohol. It’s a very deceptive drink—evil, really. At first, I thought of it as something nice to take the edge off, put a little fire in my stomach, but the drink has no smell, no real taste to it. I thought I’d never get drunk off it.

Boy was I wrong. This stuff is fantastic! I still can’t see properly. No sensation on the left side of my face whatsoever.

However, as strong as this stuff is, it isn’t anywhere near as bad as what the older warriors drink. I don’t think it can be labelled as alcohol. It’s more of a paint thinner, really.

* * *

**Day 8**

 

Zuko, you were very stupid last night. Very, _very_ stupid.

Not much to write today since it’s going to be a busy one. I have booked it off entirely to schedule for an impending day-long vomit session.

Potato alcohol is evil.

* * *

**Day 9**

 

Katara chased me around the school grounds with a shovel today.

I guess I went a bit too far this time with trying to keep Natook away from her. I may— _may_ —have told him that she prefers the ladies. Natook seemed to take the hint, but I’m worried for my own safety now, especially since Katara has resorted to beating me with heavy, blunt instruments.

I have to admit that I’m really curious why she had the shovel in the first place.

* * *

**Day 10**

 

I got the ‘I’m a grown woman and I don’t need you to be the protector of my virtue’ speech again today. At least she didn’t have a shovel with her this time, but now I have water in my ear.

Damn it’s cold here.

I need more potato alcohol.

* * *

**Day 11**

 

Katara tried to burn my journal today. She claimed I wasn’t using it, that it was simply kindling for the fire. Because apparently I’m all about using leather-bound journals to kindle fire that I can so easily create myself. And I wasn’t using it? Right. I should have realised that ink marked on sheets of parchment in a book by quill, forming strange patterns commonly known as words, would never suggest that book is actually being used. Silly me.

Anyway, I’m convinced she read the entries. Luckily I am using an archaic character set not commonly used by the Water Tribe. She shouldn’t have been able to read it properly, I hope.

Take that, Katara! You big snoop.

* * *

**Day 12**

 

I am such an idiot. Why can’t I control my temper?

I thought Natook had taken the hint and backed off. I thought wrong. There he was, shooting the breeze with a bunch of male waterbenders, and he was bragging— _bragging_ about how he was going to ‘nail’ Katara because she’s ‘so fine’.

What can I say? I lost it. I punched him right in his pretty boy face. He’s not looking too pretty now. Welcome to the creature from the Black Lagoon club, chump.

Sigh.

Katara’s gonna chase after me with the shovel again tomorrow. I just know it.

* * *

**Day 13**

 

I did something stupid again (surprise!). I may or may not have confessed to having some monster crush on Katara whilst inebriated. Damn you potato alcohol! Why must you betray me so? At least Katara had the decency to blush and smile. But now I’m done for. I can’t show my face around her or in this village again.

I’m going to crawl into a hole and die now.

* * *

**Day 14**

 

Woke up naked this morning . . . and was not alone.

. . .

. . .

. . .

I love the South Pole!

* * *


	14. Forbidden

  **forbidden** : (adj) not allowed; banned

* * *

“Normally ‘the talk’ was given to you by your mother; however, since I didn’t have one, it was left up to my dad. His idea of ‘the talk’ was shuffling me off to Gran-Gran for an explanation of how things worked while he worked a small groove into the kitchen floor.

“I was fairly young the first and only time I was given ‘the talk’, so I didn’t understand much. There was a mention of monthly cycles and eggs and blood and babies and I recall just sitting there with a blank expression on my face, wondering what the heck my grandmother was talking about.

“Meanwhile, my father was pacing nervously by the door (his escape route). Once Gran-Gran finished talking, he asked, _‘Any questions?’_ , while not so covertly pointing to my grandmother.

“I shook my head, and Dad quickly left the house while Gran-Gran went back to cooking dinner. So then I went back to my room with a horrified look on my face. Oh yes, I was _well_ prepared.

“What I wasn’t prepared for was that my first cycle would happen while there was only me and my brother in the house. Dad was off fighting in the resistance and Gran-Gran was one village over visiting friends. Like I said, it was just me and Sokka. The whole ordeal was shocking. I mean, I knew I wasn’t dying or anything, although the blood was alarming enough to make me momentarily question my own mortality, but I had no idea how to _stop it_.

“So I mustered up the courage to go tell Sokka, thinking he might know what to do because, quite frankly, ‘the talk’ a few years back really hadn’t helped at all. Awkwardly shuffling into my brother’s room, I sat next to him on the mat while he polished his boomerang.

“When I finally gathered my nerves, I said, _‘Uh, Sokka?’_

“He replied with an uninterested, _‘Yeah?’_

“I suddenly blurted out, _‘I got my period!’_

“His hand stilled on the boomerang and he turned, looking over at me like I had just sprouted a second head and casually told him I was going to eat his face. Quickly inching away, Sokka warily looked me up and down for a minute. He was obviously flustered and was trying to register what I had said, as opposed to the imaginary threat he thought he heard, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“ _‘Katara, I, uh, I really don’t know anything about that stuff. Maybe you can ask Sena next door?’_

“Sena was one of our closest neighbours at the time. She was a polite young woman with a new baby. So I nodded my thanks to Sokka and tried to gracefully rise to my feet; noting, with a grimace, that I had left a small red stain on Sokka’s mat. Sokka noticed it too, with dawning horror. He looked as though he wasn’t sure if the stain would spread like a brain-eating fungus or leap up from the mattress to attack him. Needless to say, he quickly scooted off the mat entirely and onto the floor.

“I grabbed my coat and waddled next door to Sena’s. After a dozen knocks on her door with no response, I concluded that Sena and her family were out. I slunk back to my own house and back into my brother’s room. Sokka was still eyeing the red stain with mild apprehension when he glanced up and saw me standing in the threshold.

“ _‘Did she hook you up with, uh, stuff?’_ he asked.

“I shook my head. _‘No, she wasn’t home. Sokka, what should I do?’_

“Sokka immediately jumped up and started to pace, much like how Dad had with ‘the talk’. _‘Oh, uhm, okay. Hold on. I’ll think of something,’_ Sokka mumbled.

“After a minute or two of babbling to himself, he told me to wait right there (but not to sit on anything in his room). He ran out the door and returned twenty minutes later, out of breath and pink-faced, with a thick, cotton strip bundled under his arm. He unceremoniously thrust the bulky item into my hands and hissed, _‘Use this!’_ before running off.

“I grimaced. Like I didn’t feel ashamed enough already. This whole thing felt like some black market trade gone wrong and I was left holding ‘the goods’. Don’t get me wrong; I was thankful that Sokka was brave enough to find another woman and get me something, but I still had no idea what to do with this cotton pad. Couldn’t he have at least given me some instructions?

“I scurried off the toilet and tried to figure out what to do with the humongous cotton thing. Where did I put it? Eventually I sussed out that this pad went on top of the crotch of my underpants to soak up the—well, yeah, you know.

“After a few minutes Sokka was at the door, knocking gently. _‘All set?’_ he asked. _‘Does it, uh . . . work?’_

“I told him that it did, even though it felt like I had a thigh-sized pad strapped to my crotch that did anything and everything to hinder my movement.

“I waddled out of the toilet, disgruntled and mortified beyond belief, but at least the very worst part was over. I had just become a woman . . . in my brother’s care. To this day I am still horrified of that fact.

“And _that_ is the story of my first period.”

* * *

“Why?” Zuko is sitting in front of his wife. The colour has completely drained from his face. “WHY did you tell me this?”

“Because,” Katara says, cradling their sleeping daughter in her arms, “if something ever happens to me, I need _you_ to give her a _proper_ talk.”

“ _Me_?” Zuko stands, throwing his hands up in disgust. “Hell, I’ll just call your brother over. He seems to know his stuff.”

* * *


	15. Serenity

**serenity** : (n) the state of being calm, peaceful and untroubled

* * *

**Author:** Ugh, I am so burnt out from writing a drabble every day for the past 24 days. Whatever. Seriously, write yourselves.

 **Katara:** Wait! What? _Write ourselves_?

 **Zuko:** Look, I’m a guy. We don’t write romance.

 **Katara:** What are you talking about? The most famous romances in history have been composed by men.

 **Zuko:** Yeah, well, not this man.

 **Katara:** What, so you’re ‘the man’ now, the big _macho_ man who can’t write a little romantic story?

 **Zuko:** Yes, I’m _that_ guy.

 **Katara:** C’mon, Zuko. Let’s help the author out a little. She seems like the vindictive type who might just make us drink cactus juice and do stupid things, or put you in a dress.

 **Zuko:** (horrified) A dress?

 **Katara:** (smirks and nods)

 **Zuko:** Okay, fine. (resigned sigh) What do we do?

 **Katara:** I guess we should think up a plot.

 **Zuko:** Wait, what season Zuko am I going to be?

 **Katara:** What?

 **Zuko:** I don’t know what she wants from me. I have many layers, y’know.

 **Katara:** Many personalities, you mean. (lists them off with her fingers) Let’s see, there’s spoilt, tying girls to trees Zuko from the first season; loner who metamorphosizes into the Avatar for some reason then betrays my trust Zuko from the second season; oh, and then there’s my personal favourite—kissing my ass Zuko!

 **Zuko:** (glowers) At least I developed. Let’s look at your personality traits per season, shall we? (lists them off with his fingers) Season one, bossy; season two, bossier; oh, and season three, _bossiest_!

 **Katara:** I’m consistent—and shut up! (hmphs!) At least I never sought counsel from a stupid frog.

 **Toph:** (groans) Would you two just shut up and get it on already!

 **Katara and Zuko:** Toph!

 **Toph:** I don’t even know what I’m doing here, (points to the both of them) except to point out the obvious unresolved sexual tension going on between you two.

 **Author:** (interjects) That and, well, you haven’t had an appearance in this collection so—voilà!

 **Toph:** Peachy. I’m going to go now, unless you plan on torturing them some more. I’ll stick around for that.

 **Azula:** Same here. (plants hands on hips) How about you parade out their former love interests? (evil grin) Bring out Bossy’s boytoys first for Zu-Zu to glare at.

 **Zuko:** (glares at his sister)

 **Azula:** (points) Yeah, just like that!

 **Aang:** (cheerily) Hey guys!

 **Azula and Toph:**  Boring—next!

 **Katara:** (glowers)

 **Haru:** Uhm, hello?

 **Zuko:** Who’s this guy?

 **Katara:** That’s Haru. (directs her attention to the earthbender) I haven’t seen you in forever. I thought Bryke threw you under a bus once they gave you that horrible moustache.

 **Azula:** (raises an eyebrow) Did Bossy just crack a joke?

 **Toph:** (nods) It’s a rare occurrence, like a blue moon.

 **Katara:** (glare intensifies)

 **Jet:** Hey.

 **Zuko:** Jet? (looks at Katara aghast) You dated _Jet_?

 **Katara:** First of all, I didn’t date anyone. Secondly, how do you know Jet?

 **Zuko:** Uh, on a boat to Ba Sing Se. (glares at Jet, who is staring at Zuko agape) Would you stop looking at me!

 **Azula:** (smirks) Maybe this isn’t Bossy’s boyfriend but Zu-Zu’s.

 **Toph:** (snickers)

 **Zuko:** Azula!

 **Azula:** Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Brother. I’m being progressive here.

 **Toph:** (snorts)

 **Katara:** Toph, you’re not helping!

 **Toph:** I’m sorry, (wipes away imaginary tears) I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I wanted to.

 **Katara and Zuko:** (frown)

 **Jet:** Why the hell am I being dragged into this shit?

 **Azula:** Because you make for wonderful plot conflict. Plus, (smiles) you’re rather easy on the eyes.

 **Jet:** (smiles back somewhat apprehensively)

 **Zuko:** Katara, let’s just go.

 **Katara:** (nods and follows)

 **Ty Lee:** (cartwheels in) Just resolve the UST, already! You’re pissing off all the fangirls!

 **Everyone (minus Haru and Jet):** Ty Lee!

 **Azula:** Ty Lee, _you_ were one of Bossy’s conquests or Zu-Zu’s?

 **Ty Lee:** (blinks) What’s a conquest?

 **Azula and Zuko:** (facepalm)

 **Toph:** Someone get Pink Barbie here a book.

 **Katara:** How do you even know she’s dressed in pink—or what a Barbie is?

 **Toph:** I have ears.

 **Ty Lee:** So annnnnyway, I was sent here by Mai to tell Zuko that he’s an idiot. (looks behind her) Did I get that right?

 **Mai:** (annoyed glare from behind a tree)

 **Song:** Lee!

 **Everyone:** (looks at Zuko) Lee?

 **Zuko:** Oh, uh, hey . . . _you_.

 **Katara:** Who is this?

 **Mai:** (takes out knives)

 **Azula:** (smirks) Now this is getting interesting.

 **Zuko:** A girl who, uh, helped me and my uncle when we were on the run—from _Azula_!

 **Azula:** What do you want from me, Zu-Zu, an apology? (shrugs) I was just doing my job.

 **Zuko:** (mutters) Whatever.

 **Jin:** Lee!

 **Zuko:** (apprehensive) Jin!

 **Katara:** Oh, so you remember her name? (folds arms beneath breasts) She must be special.

 **Toph and Azula:** Ooooh!

 **Zuko:** (nervously rubs back of neck)

 **Jin:** Hi, Lee. (smiles sweetly) How are you doing?

 **Katara:** (mimics) _Hi, Lee. How are you doing?_ How many girls were there, Zuko?

 **Zuko:** (cagey look) I—

 **Jin:** (sighs dreamily) You know, he was my first kiss.

 **Katara:** (eyes widen in surprise)

 **Mai:** (prepares to throw knives)

 **Zuko:** (looks at Mai) Crap!

 **Katara:** Zuko?

 **Zuko:** (grabs Katara’s hand and runs)

 **Mai:** (throws)

 **Katara:** Zuko! Where are we going?

 **Zuko:** Anywhere but here! (dodges knives and keeps running) Dammit, I HATE fanfiction writers!!!

* * *


	16. Tea

**tea** : (n) a hot drink made by infusing the dried, crushed leaves of the tea plant in boiling water

* * *

Soft rays of sunlight pour in through the window. Long lashes flutter open to reveal pale golden irises. Confusion washes over at first, then pain—horrible and debilitating pain.

Zuko blinks rapidly, trying to decipher what is wrong with his eyes. It feels like someone has poured hot sauce in them, but only after throwing sand in first. Tears begin to well and he squeezes his eyes shut with a groan before moving to sit up. That’s when the pain in his eyes shoots to his head, swelling it like a balloon. He curses unintelligibly and cradles his head in his hands, swallowing back the bile rising in his throat.

He feels like hammered shit.

He steadies a hand on the mattress and tries, in vain, to recall what happened last night, but his mind refuses the taxing effort. Did he drink alcohol last night? Is he hungover? No, no, he’s not hungover. He’s not that delightful little euphemism. He’s fucked up is what he is.

What the hell happened last night?

“Zuko,” a soft, feminine voice murmurs beside him.

He lets go of his head and turns slowly, like some scene out of a horror novel. “Katara?”

The blue-eyed girl is lying next to him on the bed, red silk sheets pooled around her torso; the only part of her body that is covered. She smiles up at him sleepily and yawns, curling warmly into his side. She lazily reaches up with a slender hand to stroke his bare arm and that’s when Zuko notices that he is naked, too. His gaze drifts back to Katara’s long legs and travels up her hips to the flat line of her stomach and the swell of her breasts before turning away in blushing embarrassment.

He swallows back the butterflies (and the nausea) in his stomach and shuts his eyes. Katara is naked in his bed. Bed. Naked. Katara. Naked Katara in his bed. He’s skating the razor-thin line of madness right now and there’s no telling when the ice is going to break.

What the hell happened last night?

* * *

“You need a vacation, Nephew. Spend some time with your friends.” His uncle’s words are full of practical wisdom and, for once, not shrouded with confusing proverbs.

“I’d love to, Uncle, but I really don’t have the time.”

Zuko has only been Fire Lord for a few years. He can’t risk the collapse of his nation for a few days’ rest. Well, it isn’t that dire of a crisis in the capital, but some days it certainly feels like it.

“Nonsense,” Iroh says dismissively. “A couple days off would do you good. Clear your head.” He points to the enormous stack of paperwork. “Maybe give you a fresh perspective on things.”

Zuko takes a deep breath and sighs. He can feel a migraine beginning to pulse behind his eyes. He pinches the bridge of his nose and gives his uncle a weary nod. “You’re not going to stop hounding me until I go, are you?”

“Hounding is such a harsh word,” Iroh says with a wry smile, before folding his hands into his sleeves. “I’d like to think I use gentle encouragement.”

Zuko drops his hand and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

* * *

“Zuko!”

He barely sets down his baggage before the waterbender springs into his arms. She almost bowls him over as she wraps her arms around his neck. He holds her tightly, closing his eyes as his lips brush against her soft hair. It’s been too long since he’s seen her and he had no idea how happy he’d be to see such a familiar face.

“I’m glad you could make it.” He releases her and glances around expectantly. “Where’s the rest of the gang?”

Uncle Iroh had suggested that he take his weekend retreat at the family’s villa on Ember Island. Zuko was led to believe that the entire gang would be there, but he only sees Katara. He’s not disappointed, only concerned. He hopes everyone is okay.

“Well, Suki’s expecting shortly, so she and Sokka couldn’t make it,” Katara explains. “Toph’s busy with her school and Aang—well, Aang’s off being a nomad.”

Katara huffs at the mention of the Avatar and then averts her eyes, tipping Zuko off to the fact that something is wrong. However, he’s not going to question it. Having talks about relationships, failing or otherwise, and feelings aren’t exactly his forte.

“You’ve just got me,” she says. “Hope you’re not too disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” Zuko shakes his head, giving Katara one of his rare lopsided grins. “Never.”

She returns his smile and loops an arm through the crook of his. “So, you’ve got the weekend off, huh?” Her smile turns devilish. “What ever shall we do?”

* * *

The weekend is going better than expected. It’s full of rest and relaxation—exactly what he needed. He and Katara sunbathe on the beach, check out the horrible plays, dine at the finest, and not so finest, restaurants, shop, and even play Pai Sho (of which he loses). There’s no work, no talk of politics or policies or all the wrongs going on in the world. It’s just a relaxing time with one of his best friends, chatting about the past and idle things of no consequence.

“Oh—” Katara strategically moves one of her tiles “—your uncle sent some tea with me.”

“Tea?” Zuko grumbles, glaring at Katara’s White Lotus tile. Why does he suck at this game?

“Yeah, you want some?”

Zuko mumbles an affirmative with his eyes still fixed on the board. Even after all the years his uncle has spent trying to teach him this game, he still doesn’t get it. Maybe with Katara distracted by tea-making he can figure out his advantage.

That’s what he was thinking at the time. In hindsight, he should have paid attention to what kind of tea his uncle had sent . . .

* * *

The ‘tea’ hits them quickly. While Katara only has a cup, Zuko has three or four (he lost count, to be honest). After a few minutes, both of them are giggling like schoolgirls. After an hour, Zuko can’t properly form sentences. He doesn’t know things anymore, simple little things, like he couldn’t tell you how to spell banana, or tell you what it looks like or what it feels like. Maybe he can point one out in a line-up, but other than that he’s truly baffled.

At some point in the night, the two of them are in his bedroom, attempting to have a serious conversation, or at least Zuko assumes it’s a serious conversation since they are no longer giggling at Katara’s gratuitous use of the word ‘but’. He wants to ask her about Aang and their obvious relationship issues, which seem to centre on Aang’s growing distance. He wants to ask what happened, if they are together anymore—or at least those are the questions he hears inside his head. However, when he actually opens his mouth, it’s more like this:

“So, ha, so—oops! I, uhm, yeah, I got some questions. And—and—and—I, uh, don’t have a say in the matter, but Aang, you, yeah.” He slaps his hands together. “You, waruhm, you doing that now?”

Katara understandably says, “What?”

And then in the middle of trying to explain himself, a switch goes off inside Zuko’s head. His brain shuts down and makes this arbitrary decision that he doesn’t care about Aang anymore and that he’d rather kiss Katara instead. No, he _wants_ to kiss Katara.

Without little thought or warning, he leans forward and their foreheads collide. Zuko grabs his head, letting out a slew of expletives while Katara breaks out into another fit of giggles. Unable to control himself, Zuko starts giggling along with her.

His head feels light and airy, and the feeling of lust gradually returns, but he swallows it down. Despite this euphoric high he’s on, and the total lack of control, he knows that he can’t give into his urges. So when Katara stops giggling and leans in with her eyes dilated and her lips soft and inviting, Zuko warily sits back.

“Katara, we can’t—”

But her lips are already on his, soft and yielding. Her firm body presses into his chest and he breathes in, reaching out to grasp onto her shoulders. A small part of his mind tells him to push her away, but then her lips open under his and her warm tongue darting inside his mouth, and he abandons all reason. Any thoughts he might have had of pushing her away go straight out the door as the pressure from their kiss drives him back onto the bed.

Suddenly they’re both winding over top of each other, tangling in the silk sheets. Mouths seek one another for searing kisses, taking breaths when they can, before Zuko’s finally on top, inching his way up Katara’s body.

Hands explore, lips bruise, fingers tug and pull as mouths moan out names and demands. Zuko isn’t sure who’s demanding what from whom, but he does know that his hands and lips are exploring every inch of Katara’s body, and suddenly they are shedding clothes, like it is too much for them, too suffocating, until there is nothing between them but the heat of their skin and—

* * *

Zuko glances down at Katara. Her hand is still lazily resting on his arm and her eyes are closed, but there’s a smile on her lips that he very much likes. He mirrors that content smile and settles back down beside her, folding her into his arms as his eyes slide shut. He takes in a deep breath, smelling the sweet sandalwood scent on her skin, and curls his chin into the crook of her neck. They can figure this all out in the morning, afternoon, evening—whenever this soothing comfort passes. Then he can write his uncle a note of thanks for the tea.

* * *


	17. Light

**light** : (n) the natural agent that stimulates sight and makes things visible; (v) come upon or discover by chance; (adj) of little weight; easy to lift

* * *

He’s lean and wiry beside her in bed. She runs her fingers over the ridges of muscle and bone, memorising every line, every arch, every angle of him until they meet again. Her touches are feather-light and he murmurs her name in his sleep. She smiles at this, distracted by the gentle bow and his mouth and smoothness of his face, like a little boy lost in slumber. His hair is a mess across his forehead, dark tendrils spilling across the pillow, and his eyes are closed and peaceful, the little creases between his eyebrows gone. It transforms his whole face into someone else; someone younger and less hunted than the Fire Lord she knows.

Her fingers trace over his scar, lightly caressing the puckered flesh. In his face she sees their past, their present and their future. They have come so far together. There are no walls between them now, no borders that cannot be crossed. He loves her completely and she returns that love just as passionately. They used to scare her, her feelings for him, but now she accepts them for what they are. There is this marrow-deep need to be with him, to be a part of him, that she can no longer remember a time when he was not an important part of her life.

She glances back down at his sleeping form, drinking in the image. The line of his pelvis is sharp where the sheets pool around him, and she follows his contours with her fingertips, delighting in the wave of shivers that arc beneath his skin. He stirs, shifting onto his side, and opens his eyes. Gold meets blue. They are eyes filled with longing and love. Contentment.

He props himself up on his elbow and lifts his hand to touch her cheek. She murmurs his name, soft sounds against his skin, and he leans in, lowering his lips to hers. His long lashes flutter against her cheeks and she sighs as his lips press into hers. His kisses are bruising yet gentle. They numb the senses.

She pushes her fingers through his hair and his grip on her tightens, fingers moving to the base of her neck. The kiss deepens and she seals his name against her lips, knowing for sure that _this_ is love.

* * *


	18. Sublime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular arc will last for seven chapters and diverges greatly from the canon timeline and events (ie. it’s AU).

  
_(adj) Of such excellence, grandeur or beauty as to inspire great admiration or awe._

**۵**   


The sun never sets on the Fire Nation. No other country in the world can boast such claims, no other can compare to its excellence and power. Its ruling hand stretches over land and sea; its grandeur and resplendent beauty unparalleled. It is an empire to be admired, rival to none.

Zuko, prince of the Fire Nation, knows this. He has been taught to adhere to the creed since the cradle. Though only a young boy he has always been in awe of the greatness of his nation, his home and his family. There are none braver or more powerful than his kin; conquerors of kingdoms and heirs to the throne. But it isn’t power that young Zuko envies; it is glory and adventure. Tomorrow, his uncle and cousin set sail to an air temple island in the south, and the thought of adventure calls to Zuko like a siren’s song. 

“I want to go, too!” 

He pouts, watching the men load the warships. His mother brought him and his sister to see off their uncle and cousin, but Zuko wants to do more than just wish them luck and wave goodbye.

“What are you going to do?” asks Azula, leaning up against the wall of shipping warehouse. “Cry when you stub your widdle toe?”

“Shut up, Azula!” Zuko balls his hands into tight fists. “I have every right to go. I am a prince, just like Cousin Lu Ten!”

Azula rolls her eyes. “Yes, but you see Lu Ten isn’t a baby—” she leans towards him, leering “—and he isn’t completely useless, unlike you.”

“You’re the baby!”

Azula snorts. “Great comeback, Brother.”

The two siblings close in menacingly, and suddenly their mother is in between them. “Enough you two!” She starts shuffling her daughter towards the beach. “Azula, go play in the sand.”

Azula is about to protest when her mother gives her a sharp, warning look, and the little girl rolls her eyes. Zuko exhales angrily, watching her go, when his mother puts a hand on his shoulder and kneels down so that they are eye-level.

“Zuko, you cannot go with your uncle and cousin.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and sulks. “Why not?”

“Because,” she says patiently, “where they are going is very dangerous.”

“An air temple?” Zuko raises a sceptical brow, and Ursa frowns.

“Zuko, just mind my words,” she tells him sternly, before rising to her feet. “You are not going, and that is final.”

Zuko watches his mother walk towards the beach to join his sister, yanking her by the ear to stop her from punting the crabs into the sea. He takes in a deep breath and sighs, turning to regard the docked ships. He yearns for his own adventure. He is old enough now; he is ready. Plus, this would prove to Azula that he isn’t useless; he’s just as brave and fearsome as Uncle Iroh and Cousin Lu Ten.

A devious plan suddenly comes to mind and Zuko smiles. He will wait until the following morning, after his family bids farewell to his uncle and cousin. Then he will sneak aboard the ship and stow-away, thus starting his own sea-worthy adventure.

**۵**

North and west the wind blows beneath a cool, early morning sun, over the endless waves of an unforgiving ocean. The sea is raging and the sun that just peeked above the horizon is now covered with angry purple clouds. A storm is brewing.

Reflex makes Zuko pull his fur-lined cloak closer as feathery mist marks his breath, barely visible before the air drinks it. A hundred leagues south is a world made of pure ice, constantly wrapped in winter. He shivers at the thought.

It is his third day as a stow-away on his uncle’s ship and he has been ever-vigilant the entire time; rising early to catch the messenger hawk’s letters and throwing away any news about his disappearance. He has also been rather stealthy, sneaking into the kitchens to steal food, even locating the nice warm cloak he is now wearing. But today is the day he is going to notify his uncle of his presence. 

Zuko was wary to do so at first since they had passed several islands on the way. He was afraid his uncle would drop him off there with a few soldiers as escort, sending him back home; his adventure cut short. Zuko was only thinking ahead. 

Just then he hears the crewmen talking and, on instinct, he jumps into a crate to hide.

“The storm’s coming on fast,” one of the crewmen yells over the howling wind. “The general told us to tie down anything that isn’t bolted to the ship.

Zuko can hear something being thrown across the lid of the crate. Through the air hole he can see the crewmen frantically moving against the wind. What was a cold, sunny morning a few minutes ago is now the howling of wind and pelting of rain. It beats down fast and hard and suddenly the boat is rocking, seizing in the waters.

There is a snap, the sound of rope breaking, and a slew of expletives escape the crewmen’s lips. He feels himself moving; the crate is sliding across the deck. There is a thunk accompanied by a louder thump as the crate hits something solid and his head knocks hard against the wood. 

Pinpricks of stars explode across his vision and his eyesight darkens. His head feels light, as does his body, like he is soaring through the air, weightless. And then he comes crashing down, knocks his head once again off the side of the crate, and he feels the bottom drop out of his stomach as he rises up.

He is bobbing to the surface, surfing on the waves, and the last thing he sees is his uncle’s ship sailing away before slipping into the numbing darkness.

**۵**

Holding her fur-lined coat close with a gloved hand, Katara keeps the other hand wrapped securely around her fishing-pole. The mid-morning sun gives little warmth and the rutted snow on the path leading to the fishing hole makes for poor footing. Normally the cold doesn’t bother her this much, but for some reason it seems to filter into her bones, signalling an omen.

“Hurry up!” Sokka is already several yards ahead of her. “You’re so slow!”

“Shut up!” Katara rebuffs from behind, trudging her way up the hill. Just beneath it is their favourite fishing-hole, which is essentially a large river that connects to the ocean.

When she finally reaches the top of the hill, Katara notices that Sokka hasn’t yet descended. Normally he is eager to roll down the slope, diving down on his belly like an otter-penguin. She wants to ask what’s wrong but her brother is already speaking.

“Katara, is that what I think it is?”

Katara follows Sokka’s pointed finger and spots what at first looks like a baby polar bear dog lying on the snowy beach. She squints, adjusting her eyes to the white glare of the snow that the animal seems to blend into, and that is when she realises that it isn’t a polar bear dog; it’s a young boy.

“Sokka, go get help!” 

Sokka doesn’t have to be told twice; he’s already racing back towards the village. Katara drops her fishing-pole and dives down the hill on her belly, trying to get to the shore as quickly as possible. When she finally reaches the boy she sucks in a hitching breath at the sight of him. He looks so pale, as pale as the snow beneath him, but what really concerns her is how blue his lips are.

Taking off her coat, she drapes it over his still body. He looks around the same age as Sokka, with dark hair that barely reaches past his chin. It contrasts against his pale skin, making him look like an angel, and she roughly shakes his shoulders.

“Wake up! Please, wake up!”

Katara takes off her gloves and touches his face. His skin is cool but there is some warmth in him somehow. She can’t imagine anyone surviving in the freezing waters, and then she spies what appears to be a wooden crate washed up on the beach. Maybe he floated inside it, like a boat. It’s stamped with the Earth Kingdom symbol and she wonders if that’s where he came from. Somehow he fell out of a boat and became lost at sea.

Putting her hand on his chest, Katara checks for a heartbeat. It’s faint and his pulse is thready, but he isn’t breathing. Her father once told her that drowning occurs when water fills the lungs, preventing the person from breathing. Sometimes drowning victims can be saved if that water is expelled and air is pumped into the lungs. 

Katara doesn’t remember exactly how to expel the water but she can sense it inside the boy’s lungs. It is almost as if she can feel it. She lifts her fingers, tracing them along his chest and begins to make pulling motions, as if she is drawing the water out of his lungs and up his throat.

Water suddenly spills out of his mouth and Katara is beside herself with joy. But the boy’s lips are still blue; he still isn’t breathing, and Katara begins to panic once more. The water is out of his lungs now, so why isn’t he breathing? But then she remembers that she needs to put air in his lungs too, to restart them. But the only way she can get air inside him is if she breathes it inside herself. 

She reaches down with her fingers and pries open his mouth. Hesitantly, she puts her warm lips on his cold ones and begins to blow. She can see his chest expand slightly as she breathes air into his lungs and so she tries again, and again and again. She is about to breathe one more time when the boy’s throat begins to wobble. He coughs violently, spitting up more water, and she turns him over onto his side, lightly patting his back as he coughs.

“You’re going to be okay.” She curls up behind him to give him some of her warmth. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Katara!”

Sokka is already at the top of the hill and he has others with him, several of the older women of their tribe. They come down the hill with a sled and fur blankets, draping them over her and the young boy. The women then carefully pick him up and place him on a sled, covering him with even more blankets, before they rush him back to Gran-Gran’s hut. 

Katara and Sokka wait outside while the women tend to the boy. Katara fidgets but Sokka grabs her hand and holds it tightly.

“He’s gonna be okay, Katara.”

“I hope so.”

“I wonder where that pale boy came from,” remarks Sokka, thoughtfully rubbing at his chin. “And how did he survive the waters? It’s gotta be a miracle.”

Katara nods in agreement. She doesn’t want to tell him that she is the one who got the boy to breathe again by removing the water from his lungs like magic. For some reason she wants to keep that a secret, at least for now.

“I think he’s from the Earth Kingdom,” Katara says. “I saw a crate on the beach that has the Earth Kingdom stamp on it.”

Sokka looks intrigued, but now the women are filing outside with relieved looks on their faces. Once out of the way, Sokka and Katara run inside to find the boy lying by the fire and covered with furs. Gran-Gran enters the room with a warm mug of something strong-smelling and kneels before the boy. His eyes are still closed and it looks as if he’s asleep.

Katara immediately rushes over to help her grandmother but the older woman easily bats the girl away. She brings the mug to the boy’s lips and forces him to drink a mouthful of the retched liquid, which he manages to before resuming another coughing fit. After a minute he settles down and Gran-Gran lifts the blankets up underneath his chin. His eyes are shut tightly now, as though straining from pain, and he lets out a small groan before slipping back into an unconscious state.

“Is the pale boy going to be okay?” Sokka asks, and Gran-Gran places her hand on her knee before slowly rising to her feet.

“He’s lucky to be alive,” the old woman says, handing the mug to Katara who quickly sets it down in the kitchen, pinching her nose at the pungent odour. She hopes she never gets sick enough to have to drink that stuff.

“But will he be okay?”

Gran-Gran nods slowly, taking a seat in front of the hearth. “He’ll be holed up in bed for at least week with a fever, maybe worse, but I think he’ll pull through. He seems to regulate his body temperature quite well.”

“Did he say who he was or where he came from?” Sokka presses, and their grandmother shakes her head. 

“He didn’t speak. Sometimes that happens with such trauma. He’ll give us his name soon enough.”

Both Katara and Sokka nod mutely, staring down at the slumbering boy.

“Can he stay here with us?” Katara asks, and Sokka’s face brightens.

“Yeah! I’ve always wanted a brother. I can teach him how to steal and break into—I mean I can teach him how to fish and stuff.” He clears his throat and offers his grandmother his most winning smile. “C’mon, can we keep him?”

“Pleaaaase, Gran-Gran?” Katara adds.

“Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase?” the children plead in unison.

Gran-Gran rolls her eyes at their obvious tactics but relents. “He can stay here until he gets well and can tell us where he’s from.” When the siblings give her a disappointed look, the old woman scowls. “Don’t look at me that way. This boy has a home and his parents are probably worried sick about him.”

“Sorry, Gran-Gran,” Katara apologies, head bent low, and Sokka does the same.

“But we should give him a name,” says Gran-Gran, and Sokka is about to offer a suggestion when the elderly woman cuts him off, “and not pale face.”

“Dang it!”

Katara rolls her eyes at her brother and is about to suggest a name when her grandmother offers one.

“How about Miksa?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means in between.” The old woman smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “It also means miracle.”

“ _Miracle_.” Katara tastes the word in her mouth; she already likes the name. She then kneels down before the sleeping boy and smiles. “Hello, Miksa. My name is Katara and I’m going to take good care of you.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘The sun never sets’ is a rather famous turn of phrase that has been ascribed to the Holy Roman Empire, The Spanish Empire and the British Empire (especially popularised with the latter in the nineteenth century). Its meaning is that an empire is so geographically extensive that in at least one part of its territory is in daylight. Of course this phrase can also be used ironically since the Fire Nation derives its power from the sun, so if the sun never sets then the Fire Nation is always strong. 
> 
> This is Lia, your guide to the world of facts.


	19. Mistake

  
_(n) an action or judgement that is misguided or wrong._

**۵**   


Three years have passed since the young pale-faced boy washed up on the icy shores of the South Pole, and many still consider it a miracle he even survived; more surprising yet is that he managed to survive the pneumonia that plagued his weak lungs shortly thereafter. But his constitution is strong, and after a month of staying indoors—drinking Gran-Gran’s horrible-smelling remedies, listening to Sokka’s adventures, and watching Katara knit by the fire—he is made well again.

Due to his traumatic ordeal the young boy is never able to recall his name or where he comes from. Gran-Gran calls it amnesia; Sokka calls it ‘the forgetfuls’. Neither he nor Katara seem to mind and Miksa manages to adapt well to the South Pole. Although he is different from the other children, pale-skinned and golden-eyed, he makes fast friends with most of the other children. 

A lot of this has to do with Sokka, who adopts Miksa as his own brother and best friend. But Miksa has his own merits, mainly his gentle disposition, impeccable manners and dogged determination. He is quick and keen, able to see and hear better than anyone else, including most of the warriors.

Even Hakoda takes an instant liking to the boy. He is hard-working and the children love him. But the boy’s colouring and features worry the warrior. While his mother-in-law is more than willing to look after the boy, to feed another mouth, Hakoda knows that the boy’s family has to be found; he has to eventually return home. But until then Hakoda is content to have another strong male look after his family in his absence, and Miksa is happy to stay with his new family—the only family he knows.

**۵**

“He shoots; he scores!” Sokka’s already showboating around the rink, playing his stick like a lute as his teammates cheer him on.

It’s a typical Saturday morning on the ice rink, which is little more than a cordoned-off space where the village boys have set up two nets on either side and try to outscore one another. But this is the first year the boys are actually skating on the ice—a feat made possible by welding sharpened blades to the bottom of hardened boots. 

It was Sokka’s idea, helped realised and put into practice by Miksa, who happens to support Sokka’s every cracked notion, much to Katara and Gran-Gran’s chagrin. The skates, as they are so named, have made the sport faster and more exciting, as well as more dangerous (again, much to the ladies’ displeasure).

Not to be outdone by his foster brother, Miksa handles the puck like a pro the moment the whistle blows. The leaner boy isn’t as strong or as intimidating as Sokka, not able to barrel through his opponents with such ease, but he is fast and agile and he has the sharpest eyes of anyone in the village. He easily slips past the defence and hooks a shot in the top right-corner of the net. The goalie never sees it coming.

“You’re like the wind, bro!” Sokka fist-bumps Miksa, who is less inclined to showboat, but Sokka is more than willing to brag on his behalf.

“Couldn’t have done it without the amazing the pass from you.”

“I know it!”

Katara watches the male bonding from the bleachers and rolls her eyes with a smile. “ _Boys_.”

“Cheater!”

Now there is a commotion on the ice. One of the stockier players on the opposing team, Iquit, is in Miksa’s face, pointing an accusing finger at the slender boy. Sokka has already rushed in between, shoving Iquit back.

“What did you say?”

“I called him a cheater!” Iquit peers past Sokka’s shoulder and glares at Miksa.

“How do you figure?”

“He tripped me!”

“You took a dive!”

“You’re just sore that he slips past you every time,” says a teammate, and Sokka nods in agreement.

“Exactly! Miksa doesn’t cheat.” Sokka’s blue eyes narrow on Iquit. “So take it back!”

“No! I don’t want to. I don’t like him!” Iquit may be shorter than Sokka but he’s beefier and just as strong. “Just look at him, Sokka. He isn’t one of us.” The shorter boy points at Miksa. “His skin is pale and his eyes are yellow. _Yellow_!”

Some of the boys on the opposing team murmur quietly, looking uncomfortable but not disagreeing with Iquit’s assessment, and Sokka’s temper flares. 

“Shut up, Iquit! You’re the only one who thinks that way.”

“No, I’m not! My dad—”

“Your dad doesn’t know Miksa like I do!” Sokka is right in Iquit’s face now; his nose pressing against the shorter boy’s. “ _My_ dad trusts Miksa. He says he’s part of our family. So there!”

“Yeah? Then I guess your dad’s stupid!”

“You brat! Take that back! My dad’s the chief!”

Sokka shoves Iquit and Iquit shoves back. In an instant Miksa is standing between the two boys, hands on their chests as he pushes them apart. “Sokka, just drop it. He’s not worth it.”

Sokka takes in a deep breath and throws up his hands, skating backwards. “Fine! You’re lucky my bro here is a tolerant man, Iquit, cause I ain’t.”

“C’mon.” Katara is already on the ice, her hand on Miksa’s arm. “Let’s go home. Gran-Gran is making biscuits.”

Both boys brighten at the mention of food and skate off the ice; all thoughts of fighting go out the window at the mention of homemade biscuits. Katara helps the boys with their equipment while Miksa says bye to the other boys. Sokka pulls on his boots and offers Iquit and his teammates a mock salute.

“Later, losers!”

“Sokka!”

“What?”

**۵**

“I want to go hunting,” Sokka whines, absently tossing twigs into the fire.

Katara and Miksa are sitting around the table, drinking their after-dinner tea while Gran-Gran knits Miksa a new jumper. He has been growing like a weed lately, as tall as Sokka now. It doesn’t help that Gran-Gran is constantly feeding him sea-prunes and poking his waist telling him he needs some fat on his bones.

“Me too,” says Miksa, watching the fire over top his mug of tea. “When’s your dad coming home again?”

“His letter said he’d be visiting in a few months.” A small frown curves on Katara’s lips. “I miss him.”

“I do, too.” Sokka shuffles towards the table. “But he’s gotta fight so that we can be free, Katara.”

“I know, but Dad isn’t a bender.” Her bottom lip begins to wobble. “What if he gets burned?”

Miksa reaches across the table and squeezes Katara’s hand. “Your dad is brave and strong. No evil firebender will be quick enough to burn him.”

Katara smiles thankfully at Miksa before squeezing his hand in return.

“He’s right.” Sokka shuffles towards Miksa, putting an arm over the pale boy’s shoulder. “And someday me and Miksa are gonna join Dad and Bato in their fight against the Fire Nation. Right?”

“Right!”

Katara shakes her head. “I worry for you two, but for other, far sadder reasons.”

“What?” Sokka raises his arms to kiss at his barely existent muscles. “We’re strong and awesome. You’re just jealous, Katara.”

Katara watches the two boys flex, trying to outdo each other in masculine bravado, and she rolls her eyes. “ _Boys_.”

**۵**

It is the early spring thaw, where the weather is a little warmer, the air a little less sharp. Katara stands on the beach, pulling water from the inky-coloured sea.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

Dropping the water, Katara spins around and comes face-to-face with Miksa. She clutches at her chest in both relief and shock. “Tui and La, Miksa! You startled me.”

“Katara?” His golden eyes are focussed on her hands, waiting for an answer, and she guiltily brings her hands behind her back.

“I, uh, nothing?”

But Miksa won’t be so easily fooled. He has keen eyes, after all, and a sixth sense when it comes to figuring out if someone is lying. “Katara—”

“Okay, I’ll tell you!” She holds up her hands in mock surrender. “But you’ve got keep it a secret, even from Sokka. Swear it!”

He says nothing at first, but then Katara’s blue eyes narrow threateningly and he squirms under her scrutiny. He reluctantly nods, holding up a hand in oath. “I swear.”

Satisfied with his promise, Katara takes in a deep breath and brings her palms together, as if in prayer. “I’m a waterbender.”

Miksa is silent at first, his mouth working soundlessly. “Waterbender? _You_?”

“What—” she brings a hand to her narrow hip “—you don’t believe me?”

“N-no, I do! It’s just that—that’s _so_ cool!” There is such genuine awe in his voice and on his face that Katara blushes at the sight, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Show me something!”

She is hesitant at first; she knows she isn’t very good. Every move she has completed has been self-taught. But Miksa’s bright smile is encouraging and she begins to pull at the water; bobbing her own body back and forth as the water on the shore’s edge begins to move with her. Then she moves her hands around and pulls out a thin stream of water and loops it around her hand before letting it return to the ocean.

“Wow! That was amazing, Katara!”

She blushes. “I can only do little things, though, like gather the water and loop it around. I’ve been trying to figure out how to turn the snow into water and vice versa, freezing the water into ice.”

“Yeah, cause this place needs more ice,” he comments dryly, and they both laugh. “Too bad there aren’t any waterbenders around here to teach you.”

Katara frowns, nodding in agreement.

“Maybe your dad will let you go to the North Pole to train.”

Katara shakes her head. “Gran-Gran said they don’t train girls.”

“That’s stupid!”

“I know!”

Miksa brings a gloved hand to his chin. “What if I go with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I-I think—” he nervously fiddles his thumbs “—I think I can bend too.”

Katara’s blue eyes brighten. “Really?”

“Yeah.” The older boy rubs the back of his neck. “I can feel it, like this great energy building inside me that wants break free. I feel it in my gut and in my heart. Sometimes—” he brings his hands down to study them “—sometimes my fingers just vibrate with energy.”

“I feel that too! Maybe you _are_ a waterbender!”

“And if I get a master at the North Pole I’ll make him teach you, too. Or I’ll teach you every day after practice.”

Katara smiles shyly, her cheeks effulgent with colour. “How about we see if you can bend first. Try doing the same motions as me.” She begins moving her hands. “Feel the water.”

Miksa tries his best to imitate Katara, flicking and rounding his wrists in an arc, but the water will not move for him. He tries again and again, feeling the energy building inside him, but the water will not bend.

“Nothing.” His shoulders sag forward. “Maybe I’m not a waterbender.”

“No—” Katara reaches out and puts a comforting hand on his arm “—but I can definitely feel a strong energy inside you.”

“You can feel that?”

She nods. “When Sokka and I found you washed up on the shore I put my hands over your chest. I could sense the water in your lungs. That’s when I first discovered I could bend.”

“Y-you saved me?” Miksa’s golden eyes widen. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugs uncomfortably. “I didn’t want people to find out. Sokka would just say it was magic and, well, the Fire Nation took all the waterbenders from our village and I was scared I’d be taken too. But—” she offers him a winning smile “—I’m not scared now that you’re a bender too.”

“But I can’t bend anything.”

“Not water, but I can feel the energy inside you. You can bend. Maybe you’re an earthbender. When we found you, you were washed up in a crate that had the Earth Kingdom symbol stamped on it.”

“Really? Maybe I am an earthbender. I’ll try again.”

Miksa concentrates hard. He can feel it, feel the power deep inside. He pushes it out with his hands. At first there is nothing and then something bright shoots out from his fingertips. Fire. The shockwave fans out and Katara raises her hands to protect her face. The flames engulf her hands and she screams out in pain.

“Katara!” Miksa immediately closes his fists, snuffing out the flames. But Katara has already crumpled to her knees, holding out her red, swollen palms.

“My hands,” she whimpers, and instinctively thrusts them into the cold waters of the ocean. “It hurts!”

“Katara, I’m so sorry!”

“Miksa.” Katara takes in a shaky breath, her eyes watering. “You’re a fire—”

“What happened?” Sokka is standing on the beach behind them.

“I-I burned her,” Miksa stutters, and Sokka is already beside his sister.

“It was an accident, Sokka,” says Katara, tears staining her cheeks. “We were just playing.”

“And your hands caught on fire? What kind of game were you playing?”

Miksa shakes his head. He looks lost and helpless, unsure of what to say or do.

“Look,” says Katara, “the water’s glowing!”

Sokka’s mouth drops open. “It’s magic!”

“It’s not magic!” Katara hisses. Suddenly her hands, which were hurting so painfully just a second ago, now feel numb yet somehow better, like she was never burned in the first place.

“It’s called healing.” 

All three children turn to see their grandmother.

“Gran-Gran!”

The old woman walks over to them, observing the gentle blue glow of the water with a frown. “You have healing abilities, Katara. Only great waterbenders have this ability.”

Katara looks back down at her hands; they are glowing white underneath the water. The pain is gone, replaced with cool relief, and she lifts her hands out of the water to see that they are no longer glowing. What is more than that, the red blisters are gone and she stares at her hands in amazement.

“Magic!” says Sokka, and Katara only rolls her eyes at this. “But what about Miksa?”

A deeper frown settles on Gran-Gran’s lips. “He is a firebender.”

“A firebender?” Sokka stands to his feet in horror and Miksa blinks with terror in his golden eyes. 

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re Fire Nation,” accuses Sokka, “our enemy.”

“Sokka!”

“No,” Miksa whispers in disbelief, backing up along the shore. “NO!” Suddenly he’s pivoting, running full-speed down the beach.

“Miksa!” Katara yells out, but he is already out of sight. “Dammit, Sokka!”

“I didn’t mean—” Sokka flounders “—I wasn’t thinking.”

“We have to go after him!”

“No.” Gran-Gran’s voice is stern. “I will go. Katara, you finish healing your hands, and you—” she points at Sokka “—you will stay here with your sister. You have scared him enough.”

**۵**

Gran-Gran eventually comes across Miksa, having known exactly where to find him. He is sitting cross-legged on the beach where Katara and Sokka originally found him three years ago. He is staring out at the ocean, a sad and terrible expression lingering on his face.

“Miksa.”

“Get away from me!” He is already on his feet, shielding his face as he shuffles away. “I’m evil!”

“I always thought Sokka was the evil one,” Gran-Gran says, and Miksa lowers his hands in confusion. There are tears in his eyes, and the elderly women’s heart clenches in sympathy.

“I burned Katara.” His voice hitches in his throat. “I hurt her. I’m s-so s-sorry.” He crumbles to his knees, burying his face in his hands, apologising over and over.

“Miksa, you made a mistake,” Gran-Gran says gently. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt Katara and she knows that too, and so does Sokka.” 

He looks up at this, his golden eyes hopeful. “Really?” She nods slowly but this only seems to upset him even more. “Why, Gran-Gran—why do I have to be a firebender?”

The elderly woman takes in deep breath and sighs before slowly kneeling beside him. “Fate, child. You cannot help where you were born or who you were born to.” She reaches out to touch his shoulder and he instantly folds into her arms, burying his face in her coat. “You will always be our Miksa,” she says softly, petting his hair, “no matter if you can bend fire.”

**۵**

Miksa rises early with the sun, like always. It has been this way since as long as he can remember, but especially since he learned he could bend. He’s not sure how to feel about being able to bend fire. Katara seems all right with it and has completely forgiven him for burning her hands, but Sokka remains sceptical and aloof. This hurts Miksa more than he’d like to admit.

Getting dressed, Miksa heads towards the kitchen. While Katara and Sokka snooze away he usually helps Gran-Gran with breakfast. It’s their together time. Even though Miksa is growing he enjoys his time with the elderly woman. She is like a mother and a grandmother to him, and the only one besides Katara who doesn’t stare at him like he’s a freak.

He is about to slink out of his shared room with Sokka when he hears the hushed whispers of Gran-Gran and someone else, someone familiar.

“Hakoda, are you sure?”

“News going around is that he might have been a stow-away on his uncle’s ship. They were travelling south of the Southern Air Temple. The time, the geography; it all makes sense.”

“What about his parents?”

“The mother died a few years ago and, well, you know who his father and grandfather are. I sent word to the general that we might have him. He should be here in a few days.”

“. . .”

“I know you don’t want him to leave.”

“It’s not just me. Katara and Sokka will be devastated.”

“I know, but he belongs with his family.”

“. . .”

Miksa frowns and slides down the wall, holding his head in his hands. Hakoda found his family and now he wants to send him away. He swallows back a sob and punches his thigh. _This is his home_. He doesn’t care about his past or people he can’t even remember. He wants to stay here in the South Pole with Sokka, Katara and Gran-Gran, forever.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is hockey in the Avatar world . . . *coughs* And, yeah, this is AU so there are more kids closer to Sokka’s age in my version. Also, just a heads-up that Zuko will soon be referred to as Zuko once more, not Miksa.
> 
> PS. Don’t expect my best writing to come out of this arc since I’m writing these ficlets as I go. XD


	20. Stranger

  
_(n) a person whom one does not know or with whom one is not familiar._

**۵**   


Most of the tribe is lined up at the border of the village. Children have climbed up the wall, peering down at the large ship docked on shore. It isn’t a warship but it’s large and distinctly Fire Nation. 

Hakoda and his men are already on the beach, formally greeting the grey-haired man who jovially steps off-board. The older man is portly but looks solid and strong. He respectfully bows to Hakoda and his warriors before removing a small portrait from his robes and handing it over to chief. Hakoda looks it over carefully, small creases lining his forehead, and he lets out a laboured sigh.

“Yes, that’s him.”

The older man’s face instantly lights up and he takes back the portrait, slipping it back into his robes for safe-keeping. “May I see him?”

Hakoda nods. “I’ll bring him to you in the morning, General Iroh.”

“Thank you, Chief Hakoda. Know that the Fire Nation and myself will personally honour our agreement to never set foot in the South Pole again—without your expressed permission, of course—and we open trading again, as well as pardon all Southern Water Tribe prisoners, including waterbenders.”

The warriors murmur excitedly at the last bit of news, but Hakoda is still frowning.

“Chief, I deeply thank you for all the trouble you went through to take care of my nephew and reunite him with his family.” General Iroh bows once more and Hakoda turns away, his frown deepening.

“Yeah, no trouble.” He clears his throat and looks back up towards the village. Everyone is there, excluding his children and Miksa. “He was no trouble at all.”

**۵ ******

Hakoda folds Miksa into a hug and the teenager closes his eyes, softly sighing into the older man’s shoulder.

“Thank you for taking me in,” he says, and Hakoda pulls back, a mixed look of sadness and pride in his eyes.

“Thank you for being such a good friend to my children.”

They are standing on the shore, saying their goodbyes as General Iroh patiently waits on board his ship. Miksa eyes the boat with its symbol of the Fire Nation on the side with disdain. Everyone is talking softly now, like how they do at a funeral gathering, and Miksa tries his best to lighten the mood; something Sokka would normally do. But this time the normally joking boy looks downtrodden, as does his sister.

“Who knows,” Miksa says, “maybe I’ll learn how to firebend without hurting anyone.”

Katara’s eyes widen in shock for a moment and then she directs a withered glare his way. Everyone else is equally silent, though not nearly as unimpressed as Katara, and Miksa frowns. He has never been good with the jokes.

Gran-Gran is next to fold him into her embrace and the teenager sighs once more, trying hard to rein in his emotions. Though he will miss all of them dearly, right now he thinks he will miss Gran-Gran the most. Despite everything, despite who he is, she has always been there for him and known exactly what to say and do to make him feel better. He will miss that warmth of hers.

He turns to leave, thinking maybe it’s best if he doesn’t say goodbye to Sokka and Katara. They are his best friends, his only companions, and the thought of not seeing them every day makes him want to wretch. But before he can go Sokka is already reaching out to clutch his arm, pulling him back.

“Don’t go!” he cries, his grip tightening. “We’re bros, best friends for life.” His voice breaks. “Even into ghost times.”

Ghost times? Miksa can’t help but smile. “We’re still bros, Sokka,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, “no matter where I go.”

The two embrace briefly and Sokka is the first to pull away, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. He turns away, folding his arms across his chest as he sniffs loudly, and Miksa feels his heart clench.

“Miksa.”

He turns to see Katara, tears shining in her eyes. She doesn’t bother to hide them or wipe them away. She has always been so free with her words and her emotions, unlike him.

“Katara.” He places a gloved hand on her shoulder. “Go to the North Pole and convince those idiots to train you. I just know you’re gonna be the best waterbender ever.” He offers her an encouraging smile. “Never give up.”

She returns his smile, despite the tears in her eyes, and folds into his arms. “I won’t. I’ll become the best and I’ll come visit you.” When he finally pulls back she is sniffing, trying to control the emotions that so easily ebb and flow from her. “I’m not gonna say bye because that means I won’t see you again. I’m just gonna say so long; we’ll meet again soon.”

“You can count on it.”

He brushes his fingers along her chin and she laughs. Nodding once, he sucks in a breath and finally breaks away, waving to them all before he turns towards the boat. General Iroh is waiting for him; the entire Fire Nation is waiting for him. He looks down at the white snow beneath his feet and swallows painfully. He is going to miss all of this; he is going to miss all of them.

“Don’t forget us!” Katara calls, and he glances over his shoulder. There is a smile on her face, despite her tears, and he is grateful for that. His last look of them should be of their smiling faces, not their tears.

“Never! You’re my family.”

“You better not turn into some preppy fire boy!” Sokka warns. There are tears in his eyes but he’s smiling too. “Don’t forget where you’re from. You’re Water Tribe!” His voice is fierce and proud, and Miksa feels that pride swelling in his chest.

“The South Pole is my home.” He swallows hard and raises his hand in farewell. “It always will be.”

They wave their goodbyes, never leaving the shore even as the boat lifts anchor and set sails. The general stands aside, giving the boy his space as he waves to the only family he has ever known.

**۵ ******

The long shadows of sunrise creep across the boat, lighting the deck a rusty orange. The wind has settled and Miksa can feel the heat from the sun soaking on his skin, filtering into his bones. He had always enjoyed the sun’s warmth and now he knows why. He is a firebender. But this thought does not bring him any warmth.

“Zuko.”

The young teenager spins around, shading his eyes with a free hand. “General Iroh, sir—”

“Uncle.” The round man smiles. “Please call me Uncle.” When Miksa frowns at this, the older man’s gentle smile falters. “I know you go by Miksa now but I thought you should know that your real name is Zuko, and you are a prince of the Fire Nation.”

“Zuko.” He tastes the name in his mouth like sour milk. It doesn’t quite seem right, but he figures it’s the name he’ll have to go by from now on so he’d better get used to it. He must say goodbye to Miksa for he is not just some Fire Nation citizen; he is a prince. The thought doesn’t give him much comfort.

“I know this is a lot to take in at once—”

“Yeah, it is.” The sun, which previously revitalised him, is now making him sick. “I’m sorry but could you tell me more later? I’m not feeling very well right now. I think I’m going to take a nap.”

“Of course, Nephew.” The older man’s smile is now a frown, but his amber eyes are full of concern, and Zuko suddenly feels sorry for his attitude. “I’ll wake you for dinner.”

“T-thank you . . . Uncle.”

**۵ ******

The blazing sun climbs high in the sky and Zuko squints against the harsh glare. Noon is yet to come and already the day feels like he is walking through an oven. He has left his coat on the ship but he is still dressed in Water Tribe clothing with his sword strapped to his back. 

He didn’t know there could be this kind of heat in the Fire Nation. He is so used to the dry cold of the South Pole that the humidity of the capital makes him sweat. General—Uncle Iroh told him he will quickly adjust, and while Zuko is troubled by the heat, it seems to make the energy in his body swell.

The two weeks he spent on the sea hadn’t made him any less homesick. Though the food his Uncle prepared was delicious and spicy, he found himself missing Gran-Gran’s homemade biscuits and stewed sea prunes. But the trip was informative. Iroh gave him the backstory of his history and the Fire Nation’s, filling in the blanks as they went. Intimate details Iroh skimmed over, like the death of Zuko’s mother, Azulon’s failing health and even the death of his own son, Lu Ten. 

Zuko listened with interest, but none of this meant anything to him. He supposed he should have felt bad about his mother’s death, as well as his cousin’s, but he only felt the sympathetic sadness that a stranger would feel for another; empathy.

Now that they are finally docked and standing on solid ground, Zuko suddenly wants to get back on the ship and steer a course south. Though the capital is beautiful with its colourful foliage and smiling, well-fed citizens, this is not want he wants. He misses the snow and ice.

“You look like a peasant,” says a snide female. Her words are directed at him, but Zuko barely bats an eyelash. He’s heard worse.

“Azula!”

Iroh’s voice is more of a warning than a sound of shock and Zuko regards the girl with critical eyes. She looks close to his age, with pale skin and amber eyes. He knows because of her name and her facial features that she is his sister but he feels no spark, no connection. She might as well be a stranger on the street.

“Well, he does,” Azula argues, ignoring her uncle as she slowly circles her brother. “Look at his hair and how he dresses.” She points to his blue tunic and his dark hair that is tied in a short ponytail with the sides of his head shaven. “Give him blue eyes and he could pass as a Water Tribe peasant.”

There is a smirk on her lips but her eyes are cold and dangerous. Zuko compares them to a predator stalking its prey, and he is suddenly very wary. What sort of snake pit has he been thrown into?

“Your brother has been through difficult times,” Iroh says, and Zuko turns sharply.

“No, I haven’t! The Water Tribe has been good to me.”

“Of course they have.” Azula sneers, scraping her sharp fingernails along her arm. “Your street urchin ways have elicited sympathy from even the poor, wretched folk.”

There is a growl low in his throat, and Zuko suddenly lunges forward. “Take that back!”

“Or what?” Azula easily sidesteps the lunge and lets out a tinkly laugh, which sounds oddly grotesque coming from her. “You probably can’t even produce a flame.” She sighs, bored. “Your affinity for those people has made you soft. You’ll never be a master firebender.”

“I don’t care to be a firebender,” Zuko says, and finds he means it.

“You can’t mean that.”

Zuko turns to see a tall man in red robes. His hair is long and black and set on his topknot is a golden crown set in a flame. He looks to be in his forties and though quite handsome he has an ugly look about him, like a man who has spent his life constantly scowling.

“Father.” Azula steps towards the tall man and smirks. “It looks like your son has returned an even bigger loser than when he left.”

“Azula.” Ozai’s voice is sharp and warning, and though his sister doesn’t seem like the type to back down from anyone, including adults, she briefly shies away. “Zuko, is this true? Do you not wish to be a firebender?”

Zuko looks from Ozai to Azula and then back to Ozai, weighing his words carefully. “Not like her.”

“Oh, you mean the best there is?”

Ozai gives his daughter another sharp look and the girl turns away in a pout. Ozai then returns his gaze to Zuko. It is a penetrating gaze that makes Zuko feel very uncomfortable, like he is being judged and catalogued.

“You have much to learn, Zuko, much to catch up on since your absence. You may never reach your sister’s prodigal level of skill—” Azula smirks triumphantly at this “—but you will not disgrace this family.”

Something in Ozai’s voice makes Zuko scowl; something makes him think he isn’t the only one who has disgraced this royal family. His eyes follow Ozai’s gaze, which is fixed on his older brother, Iroh, before returning to Zuko. Suddenly he snaps his fingers and a team of attendants rush over, awaiting orders.

“Do something about his hair and burn his clothes,” Ozai says snidely. “And bring me the best firebending instructors.”

“If you would permit it, Brother,” Iroh interrupts smoothly, placing a hand on Zuko’s shoulder, “I would like to see to his education personally.”

Ozai eyes his brother with a slight frown but nods approvingly. “Good. Thank you.” He then turns to leave and Azula steps back towards Zuko, the nasty sneer still lingering on her face.

“Already back less than a day and you’re being babied.” She rolls her eyes. “Pathetic Zu-Zu.”

Zuko watches them go and turns around to face his uncle. “So that’s my father and sister?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Zuko’s voice pitches in anger; he wants to scream at the world. “I was happy where I was. At least I wasn’t a stranger there!”

He spins on his heel and storms back to the ship to gather his belongings while his uncle reluctantly watches him go. 

“I am sorry, Nephew.”

* * *


	21. Separate

  
_(v) cause to move or be apart_

**۵**   


“Sokka!”

“Miksa!” 

The Water Tribe teenager bounds off the boat and drops his satchel, immediately wrapping two strong arms around the Fire Prince.

“It’s been too long.” Sokka pulls back, holding the firebender at arm’s length. He inspects Zuko’s wiry frame. He seems thinner somehow, but Sokka chalks it up to the heat until he feels the sinewy muscles hidden underneath. He Sokka raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “You haven’t gone all preppy fire boy on me, have ya?”

“Never.”

The two break apart, sharing a private laugh, and clasp each other’s forearms. Zuko smiles; it stretches across his face. It feels like it’s been forever since he last smiled. It’s damn good to see his friend again.

“Great, cause I brought some fun stuff for us to play with.” Sokka roughly claps Zuko’s back and grins. “I’m sure we can get into lotsa trouble around here.”

“Just like old times.” Zuko smirks and then glances around. Someone’s missing. “Where’s Katara?”

“She’s coming. She’s just being all girly, taking her sweet time.” Sokka waves his hand dismissively and then brings an arm up to shield his eyes from the glaring sun. “She doesn’t exactly like the heat.”

Zuko scratches behind his ear. “Yeah, it takes a while to get used to it.”

“Finally!” Sokka turns, facing the boat. “Took you long enough!”

Zuko turns around to see Katara daintily step down the stairs off the ship. He takes in a deep breath and holds it. She looks different somehow; her hair is longer and her eyes are brighter and her face is leaner and her curves—well, she has curves now—are full and defined and in all the right places. His jaw drops open. She’s stunning; not at all the little girl he remembers.

“Katara?” Zuko lets out his breath and stumbles forward, offering her his hand to help her off the dock.

“Miksa!” She dives straight in his arms and he catches her. Her satchel bounces off her back, pitching her forward while reeling him back. “Tui and La, how I’ve missed you!” She cradles her face into his neck for a moment before letting him settle her back down on her feet. Her hands reach up to cup his cheeks, her thumbs rubbing along his jawline. There is such tenderness in her eyes that it makes his ears flush a bright pink. “You’re so tall now, and your hair!”

Zuko swallows hard and his eyes dart to-and-fro, looking anywhere but at her. He can still feel the softness of her touch on his cheeks, long after her hands have drawn away. “Yeah, thanks.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “You’re, uh, tall too.”

Katara eyes him oddly, or maybe he’s just reading into things because the weird look instantly vanishes and she is smiling brightly again, nodding her thanks.

“C’mon, take us to this splendid palace of yours, Your Highness.” Soak barrel-rolls his right arm in an absurd flourish before bowing formally to Zuko. “Gotta any grub?”

Zuko laughs and punches Sokka in the arm. The younger teenager grunts in response, rubbing his arm, and Zuko laughs even louder, glad of the distraction. “Yeah, I’m sure you’ll enjoy the meat here. Did you bring—”

“Right here,” Katara interrupts, holding her satchel in front of her. “Sea prunes on ice, with Gran-Gran’s recipe.”

Zuko’s smile breaks out into a toothy grin. “Great. C’mon—” he waves them forward and points to an elaborate carriage “—let’s get you guys settled in.”

This is going to be the best summer he’s had in years.

**۵ ******

“Ugh. I am so full.”

Sokka is sitting on Zuko’s bed, happily patting his distended stomach while Katara glares disgustedly at him from the settee. 

“It’s no wonder,” she says, her feet swinging off the end of the divan. “You were shovelling food into your mouth like a drowning man gasping for air. I thought you were going to choke.”

Sokka sticks out his tongue at his sister, eliciting another wicked frown, and she folds her arms beneath her now ample breasts. Zuko turns away with a blush, busying himself with his hands. He shouldn’t be looking at Katara that way; she’s like a sister to him.

“You eat like a pig, you know that?”

“Pigs tend to chew,” Zuko comments idly from the settee. “I’d say he eats more like a turtle duck.”

Katara snorts but quickly reins herself in, an almost imperceptible frown curling at the corners of her lips. “No one seemed to like the stewed sea prunes I prepared. Maybe I did them wrong.”

“Nah—” Zuko shakes his head vehemently “—they’re just an acquired taste. Fire Nation people tend to be, uh, picky with their food.” 

He wrinkles his nose, glad his sister and father had the decency to leave the table before opening their mouths to retort with scathing insults at their guests. Luckily they were too wrapped up in heir business and Azulon, which immediately excludes him. 

“I think you did a great job, Katara.” He offers her a winning smile. “I, for one, loved them. They reminded me of home.”

Katara returns his smile ten-fold. “Then I’m glad.”

“Speaking of home and family,” Sokka interrupts on cue, “yours is kinda . . . _odd_.”

“You mean cold and uncaring?” Zuko supplies deadpan, and Sokka nods.

“Yeah, those were the adjectives I was looking for.”

“Your uncle seems sweet,” Katara adds softly, her smile not quite as bright.

“Yeah, he’s a nice guy. Talks in proverbs a lot. Can’t understand what he says most of the time. Tea, tea, destiny, tea.” Zuko smirks. “But he’s the only one who really seems to care about me—around here, anyway.”

Katara reaches over and places a slender hand on his knee. “Well, I’m glad you have someone here for support. You know you always have us back home.”

Zuko feels the tips of his ears burning again and he swears Katara’s hand is somehow burning through the fabric of his clothes. Why is he feeling this way, like every touch she gives sends an electrical current through him?

“Your sister’s kinda hot,” Sokka says out of nowhere, causing Zuko and Katara to turn and look at him agape.

“Sokka!”

“My sister’s kinda crazy, too,” Zuko adds bitterly. She is always trying to compete with him even though he can’t be bothered. What’s the point? He doesn’t care about the crown or Ozai’s approval.

Katara’s hand is on Zuko’s knee again and he glances down at her. Her eyes are so blue, deep as the ocean, and he finds himself lost in them.

“So, _Zuko_ . . .” She seems to be tasting the name in her mouth like sour milk, much like he had years ago. “Do you still not remember anything?”

He shakes his head. “Nope, which makes living here all the more worse. My father and sister can’t stand me, which is fine because I can barely stand the sight of them. Not a lot of family dinners, if you know what I mean.” He sighs. “And my grandfather—well, I rarely see him since he’s been so ill. He doesn’t seem all that impressed with me either, and my father seems to think it’s _my_ fault.”

Sokka snorts derisively. “Your dad sounds like a jerkbender.”

“Sokka!”

“I’m just calling ‘em like I see ‘em.” He raises his hands in acquiesce, but Katara is still scowling, and she abruptly turns back to Zuko.

“How’s your firebending training coming along?”

Zuko smiles. Count on Katara to change the subject when it gets too uncomfortable.

“Good. Uncle is an amazing teacher, when not speaking in proverbs. I have much better control of it now. I feel—I feel at peace.” He looks down at his hands and then over at Katara’s, remembering when he burned her. “It’s not so much a curse anymore, y’know?” She nods in and he touches her hand for a half-second, glad there are people out there who really do understand him. “So how has your waterbending been coming along?”

“Great now.” She removes her hand from his knee and he frowns at the loss of contact. “At first Dad wouldn’t let me go to the North Pole but Gran-Gran convinced him by coming with us.”

“ _Us_?”

“Yeah, I went with her.” Sokka proudly points at himself while still reclining on Zuko’s bed like a beached whale. “Thought I could maybe teach those Northern chumps a thing or two—maybe learn a few things from them.”

“Did you?”

He shrugs. “A little. There were quite a few jerks there, but I did meet this really hot—”

“Sokka!” Katara interrupts hotly. “This is _my_ story!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Sokka brings the ridge of his hand to his mouth in a conspiratorial manner. “I’ll tell you more later tonight, bro.” He then makes a curt motion at his sister. “Go on.”

“Thanks.” Katara rolls her eyes but continues, “At first Master Pakku wasn’t going to train me because they don’t train girls—blah, blah, blah—but then Gran-Gran gave him a talking-to and—”

“Turns out Pakku and Gran-Gran used to be betrothed!” Sokka sits up on the pillows. “Gran-Gran was originally from the North Pole! How wild is that?”

Katara shoots Sokka the nastiest glare yet and he shrinks back in half-masked horror. “Yeah, so Gran-Gran left the North Pole because of how unfairly the female benders were treated there. Anyway, long story short, Pakku decided to teach me and he and Gran-Gran are now betrothed!”

“What? I didn’t get a letter!”

“I’ve got it right here.” Katara picks up her satchel from the floor and produces a letter, handing it to Zuko. “Gran-Gran wants you to come to the ceremony at the South Pole.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good,” says Sokka, who is now picking at his teeth. “We could use some more testosterone to keep these women in line.”

Katara shoots a nasty glare at her brother, who only shrugs, before turning back to Zuko with a contrite expression on her face as she toes the rug.

“Miksa, I’m sorry I didn’t write you while I was at the North Pole.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sokka adds sheepishly. “Chief Arnook wouldn’t let us send letters to the Fire Nation.”

Zuko raises his hand and shakes his head. He doesn’t need to know why; he already knows. The Northern Water Tribe has always despised the Fire Nation, and with good reason. “I understand. I’m just glad you guys are here now.” 

They both sigh in relief.

“So how good are you at waterbending?” Zuko asks, and Katara grins. 

“Want to find out?”

“Sure!” Zuko motions to Sokka. “You coming?”

Sokka shakes his head, turning over on the bed. “I’ve seen her use her magic more than enough for one lifetime. I’m going to take a nap.” He then sits up, pointing a stern finger at Zuko. “Later tonight we’re gonna spar. I’ve got some new moves to teach you.”

Zuko grins. “Can’t wait.”

“I’m gonna need some water,” Katara says, looking up at Zuko with those big blue eyes of hers. 

“C’mon.” He curls his finger back, indicating she should follow him. “I know the perfect place. You’ll love it.”

**۵ ******

Zuko takes Katara to the courtyard, to the pond where the turtle ducks swim. For some inexplicable reason he feels at home here, loved here. It’s almost as if a small piece of his past is right here beneath the tree at the foot of the pond. He can’t remember what happened here or how he should feel, but it’s the only place in this entire nation that makes him feel at peace.

Katara begins bending straight away, flowing from one move to the next, and Zuko is completely mesmerised. She’s good, better than good; she’s amazing. He really had no doubt that she would be the best, but seeing waterbending in motion is unbelievable. He feels honoured to watch from his humble spot at the base of the tree. 

An hour goes by and Katara still isn’t slowing down, and Zuko has yet to be bored. Finally, after a few more minutes, she stops, letting the water fall back into the pond. Clasping her hands behind her back almost meekly, she strides forward and sits down beside him, leaning against the tree.

“So how was that?” She sounds slightly out of breath but she is smiling, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Amazing.” 

“Why don’t you show me your firebending?” 

He shakes his head and points at the orange sun slowly setting behind the palace, covering the land with a rusted glow.

“I do better with the rising sun. I’ll show you tomorrow.”

A part of him is afraid to firebend around her, remembering the past, but a bigger part of him just wants this all to be her moment to shine, for her to show him how special he always knew she was. His bending, no matter how lame, would only distract from that. He’s content to just sit here with her, watching the turtle ducks swim.

Katara shifts beside him, letting out a soft yawn as her shoulder presses into his arm. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve learnt,” she says, and she actually sounds sincere, but then she always was genuine. “I’ve really missed you, Miksa.”

Her last sentence is a whisper. Her head is resting against his shoulder now and her eyes are already sliding shut as she yawns sleepily. The bending probably took more out of her than she let on. Coupled with the long voyage and the fact this is the first time today she’s been off her feet, Zuko’s not surprised she’s so tired.

He lets her rest against his shoulder, content with the comfortable feel of her weight. The gentle rhythm of her breathing is soothing, almost hypnotic, and he can feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. His heart suddenly begins to speed up and he clutches at his chest with mild confusion. 

He turns his head to stare down at Katara’s sleeping form, which only seems to make his heart beat faster. He frowns, beginning to think that this feeling must be a result the sea prunes. He hasn’t had them in so long that his system is no longer used to them. They must have given him heartburn.

Yes, that’s it; heartburn.

* * *


	22. Stubborn

  
_(n) having or showing dogged determination not to change one’s attitude or position on something, especially in spite of good arguments or reasons._

**۵**   


“Man, you’re good.” Sokka’s out of breath, impatiently slapping the flat of the blade against his thigh. “When did you get so good?”

The two have been sword fighting in the courtyard for the last hour and a half, and though Sokka is good (and always has been), Zuko has a definite advantage with the heat and his use of the dao swords. Sokka’s awe and slight disappointment with Zuko’s considerable improvement cannot be easily masked.

“Master Piandao.” Zuko wipes a forearm across his damp forehead. “My uncle introduced me to him not long after he brought me here. I was a little frustrated at the time, not being able to bend fire as well as I wanted to.”

“Didn’t like living in your prodigy sister’s shadow, huh?” Sokka offers Zuko a sympathetic shrug. “I know the feeling.”

“No, it wasn’t that—and I know you don’t feel like you’re living in Katara’s shadow. It’s just—” he takes in a deep breath “—Azula always wants to show me she’s best but she doesn’t get that I don’t care. I just wanted some control, y’know?”

Sokka nods slowly and brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that. You know that day on the beach with Katara, what I said, I—”

“It’s okay, Sokka. I get it.” Zuko effortlessly sheaths his duo sword. “You were scared; so was I.” 

Zuko really had been scared that day, terrified even. Looking back on it now he understands why Sokka reacted the way he did. Sokka, like most Water Tribe people, was raised to believe that the Fire Nation was his enemy and Zuko, who was a part of that tribe, was raised the same way. For the most part it’s true, but not all firebenders and Fire Nation citizens are evil and Zuko’s just glad his foster brother doesn’t see him as his enemy.

“So, did the swordbending help?”

“Yeah, it did. Not just with my firebending but my control in general. I feel at peace with the swords.” He pats the hilts affectionately before directing a lop-sided grin Sokka’s way. “Reminds me of training with you.”

“So you get your butt kicked often, then?”

“You wish.” Zuko folds his arms across his chest. “An added bonus is that my sword skills really piss off Azula.”

“That’s what it’s all about,” Sokka says loftily, “pissing others off.”

Zuko’s grin falters for a moment. If Sokka only knew how much his presence angers his sister and father. With Azulon’s failing health, the issue of who’s going to ascend the throne or who’ll be the next heir is even more of a powder keg topic than before. Even the fact that Zuko doesn’t want the crown does nothing to appease his sister, and he wonders what lengths she will eventually go to to remove him from the picture.

“So, would you like a lesson with Master Piandao?” Zuko asks, artfully changing the subject, and Sokka’s mouth gapes open in surprise. 

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, we’ve got the whole summer together. I’m sure my uncle could convince Piandao to train you for a bit.”

Sokka’s mouth snaps shut and he grins like an idiot before rushing forward to pull Zuko into a bear hug. “That would be fantastic! Thanks, Miksa—I mean Zuko.”

“Miksa’s fine, at least in private.” He smiles, clapping Sokka on the back. “In fact, I prefer it.”

“Well, _Miksa_ ,” says Sokka, throwing an arm over Zuko’s shoulders, “let’s go find my sister and tell her the awesome news!”

**۵ ******

The summer is almost half-way over and Zuko is already dreading the day Sokka and Katara have to leave. Thankfully the three have been having a lot of fun, despite his father and sister’s insistence on silently mocking their ‘peasant-like’ presence. 

Luckily Iroh is a gracious host and more than willing to cater to their simple requests, including arranging it so that Piandao trains Sokka. The Water Tribe warrior has spent the past two weeks training at Piandao’s villa with great success, and Katara and Zuko make sure to visit him every other day while spending the off-days sparring with one another. It is just before another sparring match when Iroh finds Zuko in the kitchens, nicking some food.

“Come, Zuko,” he says, giving his nephew a small smile. “It may be summer vacation, but you still have your studies.”

“I still don’t know why you’re bothering when my father isn’t.” Zuko grimaces. “It’s obvious that if anyone is going to be heir, it’ll be Azula—she’ll kill anyone on her way to the crown.”

Iroh frowns at his words. “I have faith in your destiny, Nephew, even if you do not.” He places a large hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “You have the potential to be better than any one of us.”

“ _Right_.” Zuko regards his uncle sceptically before pointing in the direction of the courtyard where Katara is still practising her bending. “Look, I just need to tell Katara where I’ll be for the next few hours. I’ll meet you in the library in ten minutes.”

Iroh nods and lets Zuko go. As the firebender makes his way down the hallway, he hears raised voices coming from his grandfather’s room. Curling his lip into a frown, Zuko silently steals himself along the wall and presses an ear to the door. Despite the thick barrier muffling most of the sound, Zuko’s hearing is sharp and he can easily make out his father and grandfather’s voices.

“But Iroh has been broken since the death of Lu Ten. Furthermore, he has no heir now and—”

“Enough, Ozai! We’ve had this conversation before. Do you wish to revisit it?”

“No.”

“Your brother will be Fire Lord. He is the _only_ man I trust, the only one capable. Now, go. I’ve had enough of you.”

“Yes, Father.”

Zuko quickly steals away, already out of sight before Ozai exits the room. He takes in a deep breath and bangs the back of his head against the wall, wincing at the pain. Letting out a protracted sigh, he straightens his shoulders and back and heads off to the courtyard. He doesn’t want to think about any of this—not now, not with his friends here.

**۵ ******

The summer regrettably comes to an end and the day comes when Sokka and Katara have to return home to the South Pole. There is an empty feeling in the pit in Zuko’s stomach and he swallows back a painful voice. He will not show them how sad he is to see them go; he will not make himself a figure of pity. So with less tearful goodbyes than the last time they parted, Zuko sees the siblings off at the pier.

“This summer was great!” There’s a huge grin on Sokka’s face as he admires the dark sword he made at Piandao’s villa. “Thanks for having us, bro.”

The two teenagers briefly embrace, clapping each other’s shoulders as they try to keep the emotion from their voices and faces. 

“I think that sword master of yours managed to teach Sokka manners,” Katara says with a smirk. “There may be hope for you yet.”

“Oh, ha-ha!” Sokka mirthlessly sheaths his sword while Katara steps closer to Zuko, wrapping her slender arms around his neck. 

“Thank you for having us, Miksa.” Her voice in his ear sends delightful shivers down his spine. She plants a chaste kiss on the cheek and Zuko pulls away in embarrassment. 

“Y-you’re welcome. Thank you for coming.” He nervously rubs at the back of his neck and smiles. “It was nice to be reminded of home.”

“Speaking of home,” Sokka interjects, oblivious to Zuko’s blush, “you better come back for Gran-Gran’s wedding or she’s gonna come here to personally kick your butt all the way back to the South Pole!.

“What he means is we’d all love it if you came.” Katara offers Zuko a beaming smile. “Dad misses you.”

“Really?” Zuko is somewhat shocked to hear this, although he knows Chief Hakoda has always been a kind and fair man.

“Yeah.” Sokka pulls an apple out of his satchel and takes a deep bite. “Every time I get in trouble he’ll send a letter that makes a point to mention how his _other_ son was always such a good boy and that I should follow your example.” 

Zuko beams at this, bringing a hand to his flushed neck.

“He’ll be back for the wedding, too,” Katara adds, still smiling that sweet smile of hers. “You really have to come.”

“I-I will.” Zuko feels that damnable blush returning. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Their eyes linger for a moment and suddenly Sokka is between them both, picking up Katara’s bags. “We had better get going while the wind is high and the tide is out.”

Katara nods in agreement and is about to follow her brother to the ship when she turns back towards Zuko. “Give me a minute, Sokka.”

“You guys better not suck face while I’m gone—or at all!”

Zuko and Katara blanch at once and shout out Sokka’s name in unison, horrified looks creeping onto their faces. Zuko turns away first, not bothering to watch Sokka board the ship, when he feels Katara’s small hand on his shoulder.

“Here.” She thrusts her arm forward, a familiar stone pendant cupped in her hand. Zuko reaches out to touch it and she drops it into his waiting palm.

“Katara, this—this is your mother’s necklace.”

“I’m not giving it to you. I do want it back . . . eventually.” There is a soft blush on the apple of her cheeks and this time she looks away shyly, toeing her foot into the dock. “It’s a promise that you’ll come visit.”

“O-of course I will.” He closes his fist around the cool stone. “I won’t ever break a promise to you, Katara.” She glances up, her bright blue eyes so intently focussed on him that he has to look away. “I, uh—I will take good care of it.”

“You better or I’ll be hunting you down myself. If you think Gran-Gran’s kicks hurt—” She raises her foot as though she is about to kick him in the shin and Zuko instantly takes a hop back, guarding what vital body parts he can.

“I believe you! I believe you!” 

Katara only laughs at this and leans forward, leaving another chaste kiss on his cheek before running up to the boat and waving to the now pink-faced Fire Prince. “Bye, Miksa!” 

“Take care, bro!”

Zuko lifts his hand, waving as the ties are cast off and the anchor is raised. Stymied, he stands there on the dock, waiting until their ship is no longer in sight. He clutches Katara’s necklace in his hand and frowns. Summer is already over.

**۵ ******

Azulon passes in the night.

The nation mourns the loss of their Fire Lord, son of the great Sozin. The funeral procession lasts a week and, admittedly, Zuko’s not quite sure how to handle it. He has dealt with death before in the South Pole but never the death of a family member (not one he can remember, anyway). But Zuko has no love for his family here, except his uncle, and they have never seemed to have love for him either. To Zuko, Azulon’s death is merely the passing of a tyrant; something he silently celebrates with the ‘enemy’ nations. 

The following week Azulon’s will is read and Iroh is crowned Fire Lord, much to Ozai and Azula’s chagrin. The nation celebrates, but Zuko holds his applause. While he believes his uncle will make a better ruler than his father or sister, he worries for his uncle . . . and for himself.

* * *


	23. Holiday

  
_(v) a day of festivity or recreation when no work is done._

**۵**   


Zuko steps out on the snowy shores, taking in a deep breath of the icy cold air. It filters into his lungs, crisp and cool, and he smiles as he watches his breath crystallise in the air. This enjoyment of the cold as much as the heat makes him different from other firebenders. He knows this but does not care; he is his own man with his own preferences.

The crewmen retreat inside the large, unmarked ship—the same ship Zuko’s uncle had brought him back to the Fire Nation on. Their instructions are to remain on board unless called for or in case of emergency. They are not to don Fire Nation armour or vestments of any kind. Zuko wants this day to be about his foster grandmother not about a Fire Nation prince stepping on Water Tribe soil (or snow in this case).

Wearing his own Water Tribe ceremonial robes, sent to him by Gran-Gran, Zuko trudges his way up the slope of the hill to the gathering area. Just over the hill on the flat of the snowing plains he comes in full view of the wedding site. The entire field is decorated, intricately carved with dazzling icy sculptures. Pakku must have prepared this, perhaps with the assistance of the newly released waterbending prisoners—the ones his uncle promised to Hakoda that he would release and did.

“Miksa, you made it.” Gran-Gran’s gentle voice fills Zuko’s ears, causing him to spin around. He comes face to face with the older woman who is holding out her arms with a small smile on her wrinkled lips.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says, folding his foster grandmother into his embrace. She smells of honey and biscuits. Nostalgic memories of sitting by the hearth with a cup of tea swirl through his mind and he smiles in fond remembrance.

After a moment Gran-Gran pulls back and examines Zuko with keen milky-blue eyes. “You’re skinny,” she says with a frown, and Zuko laughs.

“It’s the heat.”

“We need to get some meat on your bones.” She puts her hands on his slim hips and grimaces. “You’re wasting away.”

“I was saving up for your delicious stewed sea prunes,” he tells her honestly. “I was thinking you’d plump me up at the reception dinner.”

“You thought wisely.”

The two exchange few words. Neither one has been known to be exceptionally garrulous, and perhaps that’s one of the reasons why they have always got along so well. After a few more choice words about his diet, Gran-Gran excuses herself to the ceremonial hut to get ready. Before Zuko can even turn around and hunt out his friends in the crowd, a large hand settles on his shoulder.

“Miksa!” Hakoda bellows, a big cherry-red smile on his face. “Or should I call you Prince Zuko now?”

“No, no.” Zuko waves his hands in front of his face. “Miksa, _please_.” He holds out his arm to the chief, who smiles and grips it firmly. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

“Good to see you, son.” Hakoda lets go and claps the teenager good-naturedly on the back, guiding him towards the seating area. “Kanna was worried you wouldn’t make it.”

Zuko raises an eyebrow in surprise. “She said that?”

“Well, not so much with her words but with the way she’s been looking over all of your letters lately.” He offers Zuko a charming half-grin. “But we all knew you would come.”

“Of course.” Zuko nods, returning the half-grin before glancing about. “Where are Sokka and Katara?”

“They’re with Chief Arnook and his daughter.” Hakoda motions to the hut where Gran-Gran is getting ready. “A few people from the North Pole came as Pakku’s guests. They should be over here shortly.” He sits down, patting the seat next to him. “You’ll sit here with me on Kanna’s side.”

**۵ ******

The ceremony has yet to begin, and Zuko waits patiently beside Hakoda. The older man is talking animatedly with Bato, kindly gesturing to Zuko every now, but Zuko doesn’t pay close attention; he is still on the look-out for Katara and Sokka. When he finally spots Katara, he holds his breath. She is casually walking down the aisle on the arm of a rather handsome-looking teenager, and Zuko’s brow knits together with a frown. 

The boy (or man, spirits knows he’s probably older than Zuko) is talking casually with Katara, making her laugh—as though it’s as natural as breathing that they get along so well. Zuko eyes the man up and grimaces. Man-pretty is what Sokka would label him; with a devilish smirk that seems to charm all the ladies in his path, including Katara. 

Zuko’s hands curl into fists and his nails digging into his palms. Suddenly he wants to punch that smirk off his stupid man-pretty face, but before he can even begin to talk himself out of such a foolish act Katara finally sees him. Their eyes meet and her face instantly lights up like the sun. For him; she is smiling for him.

“Miksa!”

Katara launches herself into Zuko’s arms and that is when he realises that he had stood up and ran towards her. He twirls her around in his arms, smiling into her hair, before carefully setting her down on the ground. She looks up at him, still smiling that dazzling smile of hers. She looks beautiful with her hair done up, dressed in a white fur robe that grazes the ground. It has only been a few months since he last saw her but she looks older now, more mature. 

The teenager standing next to Katara unceremoniously clears his throat and glowers at Zuko, no doubt thinking he is being snubbed, which is indeed correct. But Zuko doesn’t pay him any mind. Instead he pulls out a familiar blue necklace from his robes and hands it over to Katara. She takes it in her hands with a gentle gasp and her smile widens before she is throwing an affectionate arm around Zuko’s neck.

“Thank you, Miksa,” she whispers, her lips pressing against his cheek. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Me too.” He pulls back, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Katara, I—” 

“Miksa! Bro!”

Now Sokka is standing in front of him. Next to him is an incredibly beautiful young woman with long white hair. Zuko’s mouth gapes open slightly; he is almost mesmerised for a moment. He has never seen a girl so enchanting or with such lovely white hair. She’s striking. But quickly he notes that this beautiful young girl’s eyes aren’t nearly as blue or as wide and vibrant as Katara’s and that thought alone makes him pause for a second. 

Wait—why is he comparing their eyes?

“Sokka!” Katara releases Zuko from her hold and the Fire Prince steps towards his foster brother and folds the taller teenager into his arms, giving him a brief hug before stepping back. “You have to stop growing.”

“That’s like asking me to stop being handsome.” Sokka snorts, clapping the golden eyed boy on the shoulder. “Ain’t gonna happen, bro.”

Zuko chuckles while Katara rolls her eyes, gradually leading them all over to the chairs. Before they sit, she introduces him as Miksa to their two teenage guests, Princess Yue and Hahn. Both bow respectfully, but Zuko has an instant dislike of Hahn, which Sokka seems to share. Everyone seems happy, though, and the ceremony is about to begin. 

Content that Katara is seated on the left of him and Sokka on his right, Zuko turns his head to watch the ceremony, glad to be home again.

**۵ ******

Once the wedding ceremony is over the real celebration begins. Food is brought out and alcohol is poured generously. A few people get onto the make-shift dance floor and strut their stuff while the band plays familiar tunes. Zuko sits back with a glass of rice wine in his hand, watching Katara twirl in Hahn’s arms.

 _Who the hell does this guy think he is?_ Zuko thinks to himself. _Does he honestly fancy himself some sort of handsome rake who can seduce Katara with his charms and good looks? Katara can’t be so easily fooled . . . can she?_

Zuko frowns at the thought. Why is he thinking about this stuff? He should be happy that his foster sister is having fun. Yeah, his foster sister. His frown deepens. But how come it doesn’t feel like she’s his foster sister? With Sokka there’s no doubt; they’re brothers. But Katara—she’s never felt like a sister. Not once.

It is then, when watching Katara dance with this handsome stranger, Zuko realises that being her foster brother or even her friend simply isn’t enough for him anymore. She has left an ache in parts of him that he hadn’t even known were empty. She has become a part of him somehow, burrowing her way into his heart when he wasn’t even looking, and he idly wonders how he has been able to live so long without her visible presence in his life.

“Prince Zuko!” One of his men interrupts. He is out of breath from the exertion of running up the embankment. “An urgent message for you, sir.”

Zuko dismisses the unmarked soldier with a wave. He had his men purposely dressed in Earth Kingdom clothing as not to distract or upset his foster grandmother or her guests. Besides, he came here as part of the family, not Fire Nation royalty. Unfurling the parchment, Zuko quickly begins to read and his face instantly pales in shock.

“Miksa, what’s wrong?” Katara’s hand on his arm. She must have noticed the soldier approach him from the side of the dance floor, noted the alarm in Zuko’s eyes, and came directly over.

“I—there has been a coup. My uncle—” he swallows hard, his throat painfully parched “—I-I have to go.”

He turns to leave but her grip on his arms tightens, along with a larger hand that settles on his shoulder. He glances up to see Sokka looking down at him. His blue eyes are full of concern and determination.

“Then we’re coming with you.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I highly doubt this is how wedding ceremonies are held in the South Pole or anywhere in AtLA, so I made it a bit Westernised. My apologies.


	24. Similarity

  
_(n) a similar feature or aspect; likeness or resemblance._

**۵**   


Zuko’s hands grip the railing tightly. His eyes are fixed on the horizon of a seemingly endless blue sea. They are less than a day from Fire Nation soil and he can only stand at the helm of his ship, trying to will the vessel to travel faster. His uncle, the only family member who actually cares for him, is in danger; possibly dead. He has never felt more powerless.

Behind him he hears Sokka make a ribald joke in a low voice. Hahn grunts in reply while Katara sniffs prissily and rolls her eyes. None of the three seem all that affected by the news or what possibly lies in store for them as they cross the border into Fire Nation territory—at least not outwardly. But then they are Water Tribe. Any news of the Fire Nation’s downfall would be good news, right? 

Zuko frowns. He used to think that way too; maybe he still does. He’s not sure anymore.

Hahn snorts derisively and Zuko turns his head, eyeing the older boy sharply. Why did he have to come? Why did Katara even invite him? Hakoda and Chief Arnook agreed that an extra pair of hands might be useful. Hahn is an experienced sailor and warrior, and when Zuko really thinks about it (at least beyond his own petty jealousies and insecurities), he does want to maintain good relations with the North Pole as well as the South. Still, he doesn’t like seeing the man so close to Katara, acting so informally. 

Just then Katara turns and her eyes meet Zuko’s. The annoyed scowl on her face, no doubt the result of some lame or demeaning joke told by Sokka, vanishes from her face and is replaced with a gentle smile.

“Miksa.” Her voice is soft, a soothing balm on his frazzled mind. “You should get some rest.”

Zuko nods and grudgingly allows her to lead him to his quarters. He hasn’t slept since they set sail a few days ago. His worry for his uncle gnaws at his stomach, never allowing him a moment’s peace. 

He’s never knew fear and worry like this, not when he lived at the South Pole. But ever since he returned to the Fire Nation his life as a prince has been nothing but anxiety and stress. The burden of it all weighs on his shoulders; so much so that it keeps him awake at night. His trip to the South Pole was to be his reprieve, but even that was mercilessly snatched away from him by the Fire Nation. 

Everything is taken from him . . . eventually.

**۵ ******

Zuko awakes to a loud roar and a thud. The small ship is being violently rocked to and fro. He shoots up out of his bed in alarm and races out of his cabin, taking the stairs two steps at a time before he’s up on deck. A blast of fire narrowly avoids his cheek and he turns to glare at his rude attacker.

Stationed across from Zuko’s small vessel is a massive warship. On the deck of this ship stands a hardened crew of twenty-odd Fire Nation soldiers. None bother to formally acknowledge the Fire Prince and show him proper respect. 

At this obvious and terrible slight, Zuko’s lips curl into sneer and he makes his way towards the edge of the boat. “What is the meaning of this? How dare you block the passage of your prince?”

Some of the men shrink at his words, but most audaciously stare back. Then the lieutenant steps forward and calls across the wide gap that separates the two ships, “Prince Zuko, you are in violation of your banishment.”

“Banishment?” Zuko’s brow knits together and his hands curl into tight fists. “What do you mean _banishment_?”

Smoke exhales from his nostrils and the soldiers shift uneasily on their feet, regarding the prince with wary eyes. Their bodies are coiled in alertness, as though expecting a fight. Some of the men appear to have a fever in their eyes while the rest wear guarded wooden faces. Zuko glances back at his own small group of men who have joined him on deck; they look anxious, fervent and afraid. Zuko glowers at them.

“He means, dear brother, that he cannot allow you to travel any further.” Amber-eyed Azula steps around the lieutenant to face Zuko. She is dressed in royal armour with a confident smirk playing on her lips. “By order of the Fire Lord.”

“Fire Lord?” Zuko sneers. “Azula, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Preventing your entry into sovereign lands, and dealing with a dissident.”

“Dissident?”

“Yes, dissident.” She points. “You. By the decree of our father, you are banished forthwith from the Fire Nation.”

“What?” Zuko rushes forward and his hands curling around the railing for support. “He can’t do that! Iroh is Fire Lord, not him!”

“Oh, clueless Zu-Zu.” Azula’s smirk transforms into a grotesque leer. “Uncle is dead.”

Zuko staggers backwards and brings a hand to his chest. It feels as though all the air has been vacuumed from his lungs. “W-what?”

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to board your ship and take you and your _friends_ —” she sneers at her own use of the term “—into custody. Normally you’d be given a first warning, but let’s just say I already gave you one, shall we?”

Then without an actual warning Azula launches a blast of blue fire at Zuko, who instinctively blocks it with a wall of his own fire. But her assault is strong and brutal, reeling him backwards. He curses her name and begins to move, firing off attacks to keep her busy and prevent her from boarding his ship. They are still far enough away that she cannot easily jump the distance, but if she were to use her own fire to propel herself, he and his crew would be in serious trouble.

“On the offensive, huh?” She lets loose a tittering laugh before striking out jets of blue flames. “Never thought you’d have it in you, Brother.”

Zuko curses loudly in response, narrowly dodging his sister’s attacks. He quickly pulls himself up into a fighting stance and his eyes dart to see if his own men are following suit. But his paltry crew are not fighting back. In fact, they are diving overboard into the ocean. 

“Traitors!”

“Aww, poor Zu-Zu,” Azula coos, readying her fists. “Your crew would rather drown themselves than help you.”

“Shut up!”

Azula’s crewmen step forward and are about to join in the fray when the princess raises her hand. “Back off. He’s mine.” 

Grinning cruelly, she begins firing at Zuko. He dodges each blast, jumping up on the railing to deliver his own volley of fire. Azula effortlessly ducks his attacks and aims at his feet, slicing and melting the metal bars, causing the railing to collapse underneath him. 

Zuko slips but quickly recovers, hopping from bar to bar. Azula keeps on him, though, until he is unable he is not able to recover, until he is forced to make the split-second decision to fall into the waters below or fall back onto the deck and allow her to board. 

He falls back onto the deck.

Finally given the leeway she needed, Azula propels herself forward. Landing gracefully on deck, she stands over top of Zuko with her hand wreathed in flames and raised to strike. Suddenly a water whip grabs her by the wrist and yanks her forward before throwing her back and launching her off the ship. With a startled scream, Azula plummets into the ocean below with a splash. 

Before the crewmen have a chance to react, Katara is already raising a wall of water between the two ships, creating a tidal wave that rocks the larger ship backwards. Zuko is still lying on the deck when Katara runs over to him. The look on his face is cross between shock and admiration and he smiles at her appreciatively. She smiles back, offering him her hand and helping him to his feet.

“Aren’t you glad we came?” Zuko doesn’t have time to respond before Sokka and Hahn are shouting at them. 

“We’ve got to turn this ship around!” Sokka barks, as Hahn takes the wheel. “Katara, give us a hand here.”

Katara immediately starts manoeuvring the water, propelling the small ship forward and back towards the South Pole. In a matter of minutes Azula’s warship is already completely out of view, but Zuko knows his sister will not give up. She will come after him; she will come after all of them.

As they speed silently along the water, Zuko brings the heels of his palms to his eyes, pressing tightly. His uncle is dead, he is a banished prince and possibly a wanted fugitive, and now he was running from his sister like a coward—because he is not strong enough to beat her. Was this why his uncle took him in and wanted to train him? What a disappointment he must be. Now more than ever he wishes he had never left the South Pole. 

“I’m so sorry, Miksa.” 

Katara stops her bending and circles her arm around his waist, pressing her head into his shoulder. Zuko drops his arm and lets it hang over her shoulder, letting her support his body weight if only for a moment. Her presence is a comfort to his burdened soul.

“With Katara’s help we should get back to the South Pole by tomorrow evening,” Sokka says, his eyes drifting to the setting sun. “There’s no way they’ll catch up.”

“Then what?”

Katara and Sokka lift their heads to look up at Zuko. “What?”

“Then what do we do?” Zuko lets his arm slip from Katara’s shoulder. “Azula will come after us, after me. I am a traitor now.”

“Then we fight her!” Katara declares vehemently, and Zuko cannot help but smile softly at her determination. He has never been in such awe of her as he is right now.

“She’s right.” Sokka clasps Zuko’s shoulder. “We’ve got waterbenders now at the South Pole, including Master Pakku. Plus there are Dad and the warriors. I’m sure Chief Arnook will lend us some warriors and maybe even some more benders.” 

Sokka turns towards Hahn, who has finally joined them on deck, for confirmation. The older boy nods reluctantly. While he no doubt dislikes Zuko as much as Zuko dislikes him, the Water Tribe warrior hates the corrupt Fire Nation more.

“Wage war at the South Pole?” Zuko pulls away and balls his hands into fists before striking his thighs. “I won’t allow it! You don’t understand how huge the Fire Nation army is. They will destroy our home and everyone there.” He uncurls his fists and drops his head. “I have to leave.”

“What?” Katara’s hand is on his arm. “What are you saying?”

“Azula’s coming after _me_. I need to lead her away, go somewhere else, turn myself in—”

Zuko feels the sting of Katara’s palm slap painfully against his cheek before he sees the blur of movement. There are tears pooling at the corners of her eyes, angry tears.

“Don’t! Don’t you dare give up!”

He touches his cheek, feeling the heat from her hand print, and swallows hard. “Katara, I can’t. I can’t let them destroy your home.”

“ _Our_ home, remember?” Her voice wavers, but her jaw locks in stubbornness.

Zuko drops his hand. He has been chastised and defeated all in one fell swoop, all with a look from her. But Zuko knows his logic is sound; that it’s better for everyone if he just leaves or turns himself over to Azula. But he just can’t stand to see Katara cry, to see angry disappointment in her kind blue eyes, so he relents . . . for now.

“Let’s just go home and regroup,” Sokka reasons, looking back and forth between his sister and best friend. “We’ll talk to Dad and Master Pakku and see what they have to say.”

Zuko glances down at Katara and recognises the soft pleading in her eyes. His own jaw tightens and he closes his eyes before nodding. “All right. Fine.”

**۵ ******

They reached the South Pole before sunset the following day, with no trace of Azula behind them. While Zuko agreed to speak with Hakoda and Pakku, he knew that particular endeavour would be pointless. Hakoda would help and Zuko would endanger the lives of everyone he holds dear. He was not going to let that happen. 

Convincing the others to go on ahead while he secured the ship, Zuko lifted anchor and set sail, stealing away into the night. Where to he did not know, but with Katara and Sokka safe at home, Zuko could leave with an easy heart. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Katara!” Zuko spins around in surprise. How did the waterbender sneak back aboard his ship without his notice?

“Were you planning on leaving without saying goodbye?” Katara folds her arms beneath her breasts and begins tapping her foot in an annoyance. Not a good sign.

“Katara, I—”

“Look, Miksa, I know you’re scared and I know you want to protect us.” She lowers her arms and reaches out to take his hand in hers. “But how about letting _us_ protect _you_?”

Zuko looks down at her hand and swallows hard, feeling that familiar and frightening emotion swell in his chest. Before he can reply there is a loud crash and the ship ceases its motion as he and Katara are flung into the side of the railing.

“What was that?” Zuko asks, helping Katara to her feet. It doesn’t sound like they’ve been hit by enemy fire and the ship doesn’t seem to be taking on water.

“I think we hit an iceberg.”

Running over to starboard, the teenagers immediately come face-to-face with an underwater glacier. Luckily the ship was not moving fast enough to cause real damage. The rapids must have pulled the vessel towards the current that carried the glacier. But before Zuko can even ask Katara to help steer the ship away, the water beneath them begins to glow a brilliant soft blue and, without warning, the enormous iceberg bursts to the surface. 

Katara holds her breath and strays closer, staring at the huge mound of ice while Zuko stretches out his hand, trying to hold her back. But Katara only leans forward in concentration until her eyes widen in shock. It seems as though there is a figure encased within the ice— _a boy_. 

“There’s—there’s a boy in the iceberg!”

Inside the ice is a figure perched in lotus. There are glowing arrows on his body, on his head and arms. Zuko steps beside Katara and leans forward as well. The glowing boy suddenly opens his eyes and Katara and Zuko jump back in shock. 

“He’s alive!” Katara gasps before moving forward. “We have to help him!”

Zuko tries to stop Katara but she’s already off the ship, creating stepping stones out of the ice in order to get to the large iceberg that encases the glowing boy. Zuko is quickly on her heels, his gaze warily fixed on the glowing boy. Katara begins to crack open the ice when she is suddenly thrown back by a strong wind. 

Zuko catches her and they both fall onto their backs, only a foot away from the freezing waters. The hole Katara made in the ice has caused fissures to run over the icy structure and the glacier begins to crack open with a deafening explosion. An incredible beam of light rockets towards the sky as the bottom of the sea emits ripples of light. On another glacier, a group of tiger seals growl at the beam of light in the sky while Zuko and Katara can only mutely watch the miraculous scene unfold before them. 

Now the boy is standing atop the newly formed crater, looking down at them with those haunting white-blue eyes. Then the circles of light fade and the boy stops glowing and pitches forward in a faint. Katara gasps, leaping to her feet to catch the tottering boy before he crashes to the ground. 

Zuko and Katara both dive forward in unison, catching the boy in their arms. Katara pulls the child’s head onto her lap while Zuko goes to work on warming up his small body.

“Who is he?” Katara whispers, smoothing her hand over the boy’s cheek.

“I think—I think he’s an airbender.”

Katara glances up at Zuko in confusion. “An _airbender_? B-but they’re all dea—gone.”

“He’s got the markings, the arrow tattoos.” Zuko purses his lips as he examines the slumbering boy.

“But what about that light? Airbenders can’t do stuff like that, can they?”

“No, but I think the Avatar can.” Katara gasps and Zuko shakes his head. “My uncle told me that the Avatar went missing over a hundred years ago. Some thought he was dead, killed when my great-grandfather destroyed the air temples, culling all the airbenders. But I always thought . . .”

“You always thought what?” 

“I always thought he was alive but lost—” Zuko takes in a deep breath and sighs “—like me.” 

Katara looks up at Zuko, unguarded sympathy flashing in her eyes. She reaches forward, putting a comforting hand on his while the mysterious boy lies soundlessly between them; his eyes still closed in faint slumber.

“The last airbender,” she whispers, and her fingers instinctively reach out to interlace with Zuko’s.

“Our last hope.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends the ‘Sublime’ arc. Is Iroh really dead? *pauses* You’re all going to want me to expand this story in its own featured chaptered fic, aren’t you?


	25. Festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another arc! This, too lasts seven chapters. Why am I writing arcs for Zutara Month again? Oh yes, I’m insane. :)

  
_(n) an annual celebration or anniversary._

**۵**   


The trio wanders aimlessly into the village square, which is decorated in red and black with small stands set up everywhere. The smell of sweet and spicy food fills their nostrils as the sky above lights up with colourful fireworks. Children run by them, laughing and playing with syrupy sweets stuck to their cheeks, and Katara wrinkles her nose in slight disgust as a boy dressed in a horribly scary blue and white mask scampers past her. 

So this is what people of the Fire Nation like to do—dress up as scary blue baboons?

“Another Fire Day?” Sokka scratches at his growling belly. “How many festivals does the Fire Nation have?”

“It’s obviously a week-long cultural event, Sokka,” Katara says, though she’s not really sure. She just likes to be right. 

She glances around at the people in masks and costumes and frowns. They should really get some masks themselves, especially Aang.

“Really? I mean, I knew that.” Sokka casually brushes his hands down his chest and then spots a concession stand nearby. “Oh, I’m gonna get some flaming fire flakes!”

Aang follows Sokka’s gaze and his grey eyes brighten. “Oooh! Egg custard!”

The two boys follow their noses and head towards the food stand while Katara sets off in the opposite direction. “I’m going to check out the exhibits.”

“Boooooring!” 

Katara glares at her brother. “Go buy some masks, will ya! And keep them on!”

“Yes, _Mother_.”

**۵ ******

A dark figure in a blue mask sits on top of a tree, watching the chattering people below with a great deal of interest. Though he can’t really tell one costumed person from the nest, he does notice the pretty girl in the familiar blue tunic and long chestnut hair. 

The Water Tribe peasant. 

She’s alone now, but the masked figure knows that wherever she is the Avatar is sure to be nearby. So he sits and waits and listens, following the girl’s every move.

**۵ ******

Katara hums to herself as she scans the exhibits. Each stand is slightly different from the next, but most are selling food and cheap trinkets, so nothing really catches her eyes. She had hoped to learn more about the Fire Nation—to know thine enemy and all that rot—but it really just seems like a town carnival, a week-long excuse to have fun.

A cooper coin plunks down on the table in front of her and she glances up to see a handsome man dressed in fine red robes. His hair is long and black, loosely spilling over his shoulders. His eyes are almond-shaped and amber; reminding her of someone but for some reason she can’t really seem to think straight enough to figure out whom. In fact, she’s far too captivated by the man’s beauty to think of anything else. 

It’s his face that really draws her in; not just the hard, high slant of his cheekbones but the yellow and white paint that dots perfectly along his cheeks and forehead. Even the black rings around his eyes bring out the yellow in his irises, and for a moment she is struck by his haunting beauty. He seems so out of place here yet perfectly at home.

“A copper for your thoughts,” he says with a dark, rich voice that immediately gives cause for blushing.

“I’m just admiring the artefacts.” She absently fingers the cheap trinkets, already infatuated with the handsome stranger. “Is this your stand?”

He nods, offering her a half-smile, and she melts. Her knees begin to buckle and she smiles at him like some besotted idiot but quickly reins herself in with a shade of her head. No, she can’t be taken in so easily by a handsome face. Not again. Last time she did an entire village almost got flooded.

“But what I’m selling here has no value to someone like you.” He leaned across the counter. “I know what you truly want.”

“Y-you do?” 

“Yes.” He reaches out with the side of his palm, barely grazing her cheek with it, and she judders. “You desire power and knowledge.”

“I do?”

“And I can give that to you— _anything_ you desire.”

His voice is so soothing, like music, that she’s swaying to it. She can barely hear the words coming out of his mouth but she nods mutely.

“Then, we have a deal?”

She blinks, trying to shake the fog from her mind. “What?”

“Your soul for three wishes.”

Katara’s blue eyes widen in shock. How long had she been out of it and what exactly was she promising this stranger? “I am not giving you my soul!”

“Who says you are _giving_ it to me?” His lips curve into a warm smile and she’s melting again. “I just want to rent it, lease it for a while. In return I will grant you three wishes. Think about it. Anything in the world can be yours—wealth, beauty, power. All yours with the simple lease of your soul.”

He’s speaking softly and his words are tempting, alluring. He’s is telling her things she has only dreamt of. She finds herself wondering how badly she needs her soul anyway. She can spare something like that for a few days, can’t she? Her eyes glaze over, thinking of all the good she can accomplish with three wishes.

“No, I don’t think I should . . .” But even to herself she doesn’t sound all that convinced anymore. She wants these wishes. “What do you need my soul for?”

The stranger’s warm smile curves into a grin. Hook, line and sinker. She is already caught.

“You see, I am a powerful shaman. Back in my village there is a family with a very ill child who is between both worlds. I need a pure soul to help me crossover into the Spirit World to retrieve this ill child.”

Katara frowns thoughtfully. His explanation sounds reasonable enough, and she really doesn’t like the thought of letting this child down. Another part of her, niggling at the very back of her mind, screams no, but the voice is so distant and faint that she can barely hear it.

“I know the Avatar. Maybe he can help,” she says, and the shaman shakes his head. 

“I’m afraid the child hasn’t much time and I must do this now before he is lost in the Spirit World forever. Besides, I’m afraid this retrieval requires more finesse than the Avatar can manage.” The corners of his mouth twitch. “You see, there must be an exchange. The Avatar cannot simply retrieve spirits willy-nilly and return them to the living, but I can.”

“I see.” Katara hums, tapping her finger against her lips. The shaman makes a convincing point—at least one that she can’t really verify—but she really thinks she should talk to Aang about this. “So I can wish for anything?” 

Katara blinks. Did she really just ask that? What happened to her wanting to talk to Aang first?

“Barring anything that pertains to global matters, like world peace or the destruction of the world. I am not _that_ powerful.” His amber eyes seem to glow. “There are other disclaimers, such as you cannot wish for anything that requires influencing another’s free will, like making a boy fall in love with you, and you cannot _unwish_ wishes. I also cannot grant wishes that raise people from the dead, or else I wouldn’t need to borrow your soul. But, like I said, you can wish anything for yourself—wealth, power, good health.” 

“Do I get my wishes first?

“Of course.” He opens his arms wide in acquiesce. “Once I grant all three of your wishes I will return to borrow your soul.”

“I get my soul back afterwards, right?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He makes a sign on his chest and Katara bites her lip.

“All right, then.”

“Wonderful!” He claps his hands together. “Just sign this.” 

He pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill from his robes and hands them to her, pointing to a dotted line. She signs it without question, her blue eyes still glazed over, and the shaman takes back the scroll, rolling it up with a grin. 

“Now just make a wish and I’ll be on my way. Time is a factor, though, so I’d appreciate your wishes being made today.”

Katara nods, eyes shiny like glass, and inhales sharply. She brings her palms together in prayer and closes her eyes. “For my first wish I—”

* * *


	26. Wonderland

  
_(n) a land or place full of wonderful things._

**۵**   


“For my first wish I’d like to become the most powerful waterbender in the world.”

The words barely pass Katara’s lips before a wave of incredible energy hits her, blasting right through her core until it is coursing through her veins and filtering into her bones. Her very body trembles; her hands vibrate with energy. She can feel water everywhere: in the trees, in the plants, beneath her feet and in the sky, even in her own blood. 

_This is power_ , she thinks to herself. It is almost too much for her to hold onto at once.

She glances around to find the shaman is gone, but she doesn’t care. He is already a distant thought. Not too far away is a fountain overflowing with water and she smiles—a sly, secretive sort of smile, like she has just found something wonderful that only she can enjoy. And now she decides that it is time for her to test out this new wish of hers, to see if wishes really do come true.

**۵ ******

Katara wastes no time experimenting with her new-found bending powers. Not that waterbending is new; she has always felt the chi of her natural element pulsating within her. But this feeling is different, so very different. She has never felt such energy before and now it is so easily at her fingertips, along with the knowledge to use it. It is overwhelming. 

First thing she does is to make it snow. She won’t deny that she’s homesick or that the Fire Nation festivals have begun to grate on her nerves. Fire this, fire that; it’s time for _her_ element to shine. So she begins encasing the village in snow and ice, reminding herself of home. 

She makes sure to do this away from the crowds, although she delights in seeing the reactions on their faces. The adults look shocked, even a little scared, while the children laugh merrily and spin around in circles. Grinning to herself, Katara does some more decorating, creating ice sculptures and snow palaces, and no one seems has an idea where it’s all coming from or who is doing it. 

Katara can’t help but giggle, pleased with herself.

This power is wonderful.

Then something catches her eye; something blue. She drops her hands and the snow drops with it. If it weren’t for the white backdrop of the snow she would have never been able to see the silent black figure hoping from roof-top to roof-top. She squints, taking in the shape and colour of his mask. It reminds her of the one she saw a child wearing earlier, some grotesque sort of baboon mask. But this is no child and this blue-masked stranger is watching her snow-play with curious eyes. Katara frowns. She does not trust his curiosity. 

With a light bound the masked stranger hops up onto the roof closest to her and remains eerily still. He is observing, calculating, and it makes her feel uneasy. In the dim lantern lights his grotesque blue mask seems to glow, his eyes hidden beneath the macabre. Katara doesn’t know why, exactly, but she doesn’t trust this stranger. 

His eyes survey the scene, her ice sculptures and her snow palaces, with open incredulity and then narrow dangerously on her. Without warning Katara lashes out at him with water, drawing stream after stream from the fountain. She really shouldn’t have attacked him; he has done nothing to provoke her, but the dizzying energy in her core whispers to her, telling her to trust her instincts. This masked stranger is more than he appears to be and he is not her friend. Something about him strikes against her, as though he is an opposing element that can destroy her.

The masked stranger narrowly dodges her attacks and jumps down from the roof. He faces her from across the square, though the fountain blocks their paths. He takes a step forward and gestures boldly, withdrawing two dao swords; one that he points directly at her, taunting her to make her move. 

Katara smirks, feeling the incredible chi of the water element spread throughout her core, coursing through her veins. She gathers water from the fountain and forms a whip, darting it towards the masked stranger with the speed of a loosed arrow. The masked stranger slices at the water but Katara is already firing more. The water is not whips now but deadly arrows that have frozen into icy shards.

The masked figure changes his tactics and begins to flip back and away, narrowly dodging her projectiles. Katara then summons more water, working her arms in an almost dizzying manner. She has no idea who this masked man is but she is not going to give him the satisfaction of her defeat. She is strong now, stronger than she has ever been.

He raises his blade and she feints right, throwing a wave of water in his face and disorienting him. He easily dodges the brunt of it and runs after her, although the snow she made earlier is hindering his footwork as he clumsily thrashes through. As he regains his footing, Katara forms two water whips and begins to press forward on her advantage. 

Her entire body is singing, vibrating with energy, and she lashes at his face. He manages to back off just enough to avoid the full force of her assault, but one of the water whips slices through his mask and cleaves it in two. It slides off his face, revealing the familiar golden eyes and tell-tale red scar.

“You!” Katara abruptly turns on the prince, snapping her whips before rushing at him. “I should have known it was you!”

Zuko backsteps and brings up his weapons as quickly as he can, but she already has him. With a snarl of cold glee, Katara lashes the water at his face, narrowly slicing his cheek. She grins triumphantly but she pays a price for her aggressive move a moment later when Zuko is suddenly behind her, the blade of his dao sword edging against her neck. 

She tries to twist away but the steel narrowly slices through skin and she freezes. She can feel the thin trickle of blood drip down her neck. The cut isn’t deep but it’s enough to make her stop, as does his free arm draped across her chest. His hold is just as strong as the steel in his hand.

“Since when did you become this good?” His voice is a raspy growl in her ear. He sounds almost as impressed as he does angry.

“I found a master,” she lies, and Zuko chuckles lowly in his throat.

“No master could teach you this level of power so quickly.” He pulls her closer and his fingers dig into the tender flesh of her arm, trapping her back against his chest. “There is something deeper going on here and you are going to tell me _everything_.”

* * *


	27. Heat

  
_(v) make or become hot or warm._

**۵**   


“I will tell you nothing!” 

Katara brings her head back and butts it against Zuko’s nose. Upon reflex he releases her, reaching up to cup his face in pain. With Zuko’s guard down, Katara spins free and begins to gather a great globule of water into her hands, pitching it at the Fire Prince like some oversized water balloon. It explodes upon impact and the force sends him flying backwards through the air.

He hits the ground and effortlessly rolls onto his knees, withdrawing his dao swords. Shaking his head in an effort to clear his vision, Zuko uses one of his swords to push himself up onto his feet. Panting slightly, he shakes his head again, freeing his face from water, and then points a blade at her in challenge.

The arrogant fool.

Katara closes her eyes and breathes in slowly before summoning her element. She becomes one with it and now she is flowing from stance to stance. It is almost dizzying, this wonderful power that surges within her, but with each assault she gets no closer to striking the prince down. 

Hard-faced and confident, Zuko continues to circle her, deflecting her every blow. This is the first time he has been on the defensive, but then this is the first time she has ever had the advantage in a fight. Still, Zuko refuses to yield. Despite Katara’s considerable advantage, Zuko moves swiftly like a serpent’s tongue, evading her every attack. 

Worse yet, he refuses to counter her strikes with fire, and for some reason this bothers Katara. It’s insulting, as if he’s implying that she isn’t worth the effort. The thought consumes her and something inside snaps. Suddenly there is a rippling sound from below, like the tumultuous hiss of rushing waters. But the ocean isn’t nearby, nor is there any stream or river. The ground below their feet begins to shake and another incredible surge of power sweeps over Katara. Her hands blur, moving on their own as they form intricate patterns. 

The very air thunderclaps with a loud explosion and the ground beneath them cracks. But it isn’t an earthquake or a volcanic eruption. It is a mountainous wave of water spouting from the ground like some great leviathan. The sound is so deafening that Katara clasps her hands to her ears. What little control she had is lost. The typhoon comes crashing back down and Katara barely lets out a scream before Zuko is scooping her up into his arms and leaping through the air. 

Weightless, they soar until they are jerked back; Zuko’s hand reaches out to grab onto a branch of the highest tree. He shouts at her to hold on and she does just that, wrapping her entire body around the thick limb. The monstrous wave assaults them both, attempting to claw them from the safety of the tree. But Zuko is behind her, securing her in place as he desperately tries to hold on himself. The entire ordeal only takes seconds but it feels like minutes. The wave finally subsides the water rushing elsewhere, though they remain clinging to the dampened tree, dripping wet.

Suddenly Katara is falling and she closes her eyes, waiting for the inevitable and painful impact of gravity. It does not come. Instead she is only jostled a little, like being buoyed, and she hears the sound of feet landing on wet grass. Her stomach lurches for a moment as her body is manoeuvred upright and she is carefully lowered to her feet. She opens her eyes and glances up to see Zuko steadying her, and she frowns. 

He has saved her—again.

Standing completely still, Zuko’s eyes are elsewhere; carefully surveying the area. His hands are still on her waist and she can feel the heat of his gloved palms scorching her skin through the fabric of her tunic. She is about to shove him away when she finally glances up and follows his line of sight. Her hands drop limply to her sides in horror.

The village has been completely destroyed.

“What have I done?” 

She surveys the damage; stands are overturned, shops are missing roofs, trees are toppled and the villagers themselves seem to have been swept up in the monstrous wave. Katara has no idea if anyone is hurt and she doesn’t bother to take the time to find out. She has to fix this mess—now. “I-I wish that the village would return to normal, like this fight never happened.”

She blinks once and when she opens her eyes the entire village is restored. There is no water, no destruction. People are walking from stand to stand, idly chatting, and more fireworks explode in the night sky. She glances down at herself to see that she is completely dry. Even Zuko is dry and unharmed. It is as though nothing ever happened.

“Wishes! This is all about _wishes_?” Zuko’s brow furrows in a vain attempt to comprehend the situation and then his eyes narrow suspiciously. “What did you do?”

“I—” She feels the red-hot shame creep up her neck. “This shaman, he, uh, promised me three wishes.”

“In return for what?”

“What?”

“I said, _in return for what_? Some stranger offers you three wishes out of the kindness of his heart?” Zuko taps at his chest in faux concern before snarling. “I think not. There’s got to be a catch, so tell me what it is.”

“I _may_ have lent him my soul.”

“Your soul?” He groans, palming is face with his hand. “Really, how stupid are you?”

“ _Very_ , apparently!” Katara snaps, and her chin raises stubbornly in the air. She hates it when people point out her foibles but she especially hates it when some evil, meddling jerk points them out to her. “It sounded like a good idea at the time.”

“Of course it did.”

“Hey, I did it to help save a child!”

“No, you did it so that you could have power, and when you got it you became drunk with it.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Don’t you know that this kind of magic always has consequences? You never get _exactly_ what you wish for.”

Katara glances down at her feet and grits her teeth. Now she really feels stupid. Why had she so easily agreed to lend her soul? Was it because of the power the shaman offered, was she really that greedy? Or was she simply mesmerised by his words and his voice? Maybe it was a combination of both.

“Tell me, is there a brain underneath all that hair?” He tsks in annoyance. “Maybe you could wish for some common sense; that’d help.”

“Yeah? Well, I wish you’d drop dead!”

The firebender’s eyes widen like saucer plates and then his entire expression blanks like a slate being wiped clean. His body stiffens and a half a second later he keels over, falling to the ground on his face with a listless thud. 

No sound, no twitching. Just completely still and unmoving. 

Dead.

_Oh crap!_

* * *


	28. Demons

  
_(n) a source or agent of evil, harm, distress or ruin; evil spirits or supernatural beings._

**۵**   


“What have I done?” 

Katara kneels over the Fire Prince’s prone body. Her fingers touch his scar, his face still warm, and she trembles.

“What _have_ you done?”

Katara jerks around. The shaman is standing behind her. His long black hair is perfectly in place and the yellow and white paint on his face seems to glow in the twilight. He is smiling at her, the black rings around his eyes belying the mischievous glint that always seems to reside there.

“You!” Katara stands and points an accusing finger at the man’s chest. “You did this!”

“I’m afraid this was all _your_ doing.” That damnable smirk is still plastered on his face. “And now that our contract is complete, I will just take your soul and be on my way.”

“Wait!”

“Do not fret.” He solemnly places a hand over his heart. “I, Iktomi, will keep my word. You will get your soul back . . . eventually.” His grin sharpens, macabre, and Katara’s stomach knots in dread. This isn’t just some magical shaman; he is more than that—so much more. “But, hey, at least you needn’t worry about this guy anymore.”

He toes the body on the ground, rolling Zuko’s shoulder into the dirt, and Katara winces as his body limply falls back into place. Without warning she is seized with the spinning sensation of vertigo and a light tug at her navel has her stomach roller-coasting into her throat. She closes her eyes, fighting the urge to vomit. It feels as though all the energy has been sucked out of her. Stretching out her arms, she steadies herself from fainting, and glances up to see that the shaman looks different somehow. No, not just different; _inhuman_. 

“What—what are you?”

Iktomi smiles warmly this time and pours a silvery liquid, almost gas-like in substance, into a small crystal phial. He holds the twinkling bottle up to his eye and Katara sways on her feet, staring at it, as though hypnotised. It’s almost like looking into a mirror.

“Thank you for your services,” he says with a curt nod, and then—poof!—like magic, he is gone.

**۵ ******

Katara runs with all her might through the village square, as fast as she has ever run before, as fast as her legs can carry her. She runs until the fire burning in her muscles spreads to her lungs and she is forced to stop, doubling over in pain as she gasps for air. She takes in several deep breaths, steadying her pulse, and recovers. That’s when she spots two familiar boys standing next to a food stand.

“Aang!” She waves frantically, tripping over her own feet on her way to meet him. “Aang, I need your help!”

Both Aang and Sokka turn at the sound of her voice, food stuffed in their mouths. 

“Whoa, slow down, Katara.” Aang swallows, wiping the custard from his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“I kinda lent my soul to Iktomi and he won’t give it back!” 

The adrenaline is still singing hotly in her veins and she is speaking so quickly that they can barely understand a word she’s saying. Sokka and Aang exchange dubious glances and frown.

“First of all, who is Iktomi?” Sokka asks. “Secondly, what do you mean you _kinda_ lent your soul? How does one do that, exactly?”

“Yeah.” Aang rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t know a soul could be bartered for like second-hand goods.”

Katara rolls her eyes. There is no time for this. “Iktomi is some kinda demon spirit or whatever. He disguised himself as a shaman and tricked me into lending my soul for three wishes.”

“Ooh, what were the wishes?”

“Sokka, stay on point here!” Katara takes in a deep breath and tries to settle her nerves. “Some evil spirit has my soul—and Zuko’s!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sokka waves his hands in front of his face. “I think I’m starting to understand the spirit having your soul part, but since when did Zuko get involved in all of it this?”

“It doesn’t matter right now. We have to free him!”

“From Iktomi?” Aang asks slowly. “In the Spirit World?”

“Yes!” Katara reaches out to grasp his hands. “Aang, can you do it?”

The Avatar blushes at the contact. “I-I can try.”

“Wait—” Sokka holds up a hand in question “—uh, why are we saving Zuko again?”

“Sokka, shut up!” Katara glares at her brother before resuming her pleading expression with the airbender. “Please, Aang—please try to bring him back.”

“And maybe bring back Katara’s stupid soul while you’re at it,” Sokka adds dryly, before throwing up his hands. “You know, this is just like the time with the pirates and the waterbending scroll.”

Katara drops Aang’s hands and spins around to face her brother, stubbornly folding her arms beneath her breasts. “How is this the same?”

“I don’t know, exactly.” Sokka imitates his sister and crosses his arms over his chest. “But it involved you doing something selfish and getting everyone else into danger.”

Brother and sister then stare each other down, glaring metaphorical daggers at one another until Aang hesitantly steps in between. Slightly perturbed, the Avatar clears his throat and makes a lowering motion with his hands, hoping the effect will calm the siblings down.

“So, uhm, do you still want me to go into the Spirit World or do you two need some more time to argue?”

Katara drops her arms. “I’m sorry, Aang. I just—let’s find you a safe place to meditate.”

The waterbender takes Aang and Sokka just outside the square where Zuko’s body lays. The Avatar checks for Zuko’s non-existent pulse with a frown before settling down beside the body and placing himself in meditative repose. A minute goes by and Aang’s arrows begin to glow a white-blue, signalling that he has entered the Spirit World. Katara relaxes at this and takes a seat next to Sokka, who is curiously poking at the Fire Prince’s prone body.

“Wow, he’s really dead.”

“Stop that!” Katara slaps her brother’s hand away. “It’s disrespectful.” She glances down at Zuko and a deep frown settles on her features. She had shut his eyes earlier and now it looks as though he’s merely sleeping on the frond. But she knows better than that.

“These are really cool.” Sokka fingers Zuko’s dao swords in admiration. “Why does he fight with them if he can firebend?”

“I dunno.”

“Katara.” Sokka sighs, letting go of the blades and turning to face his sister. He has already noticed the haunted expression on her face and he is concerned. “Are you okay?”

Katara shrugs uncomfortably. She’s not okay—she’s really not—but she can’t worry Sokka about her guilt and fears right now.

“So this is where my nephew is.” 

Katara and Sokka turn and glance up to see a portly man in his fifties or sixties with his arms up his sleeves. He is grey-haired and dressed in formal Fire Nation robes, and his sad amber eyes are fixed on the still body below. 

It is General Iroh, Zuko’s uncle.

**۵ ******

Cross-legged in the pose of meditation, Aang opens his eyes to the familiar scene of a yellowing swamp. Birds take off in flight, their feathery wings flapping noiselessly in the air, and Aang slowly stands to his feet. 

Suddenly a blue will-o’-the-wisp hovers in front of his face, emitting a soft, crystalline noise, and the airbender grins like a child. The light whizzes past him and Aang immediately chases after it across the murky marsh towards a bamboo grove. He is about to catch it when he notices a silver spider web blocking his path. Stymied, Aang stops in front of the web, the will-o’-the-wisp already forgotten, and stares longingly at the silky threads. They look so inviting, soft to the touch, and Aang has to control his hand from reaching out.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you, _Avatar_.”

Aang immediately drops his hands and spins around. A giant black spider with many eyes mutely stares back at him and Aang’s own eyes widen considerably before he swallows back the black terror that has bubbled in his throat. The spider is huge, at least six feet tall with eight long, furry legs and massive black globular abdomens marked with red, white and yellow shapes underneath. He has never seen anything like it.

“Iktomi?”

The spider seems to smile at the name, regarding the Avatar with its many black, beady eyes. After a moment the spider begins to shrink and shift, transforming from an arachnid into a tall man with long black hair and a painted face. Aang stares at the spirit agape before snapping his mouth shut.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the man says. “There are very few who have seen my true form, and those who have tend to flee in terror.” Aang does not reply, the fear long removed from his face, and Iktomi grins. “I assume you came here for your friend’s soul. As I told her, I am only borrowing it. I will return it eventually.”

“Why do you need it in the first place?”

The trickster-spirit’s grin falters and his expression hardens. He appraises the Avatar silently and carefully for a moment before speaking again. “Because only a pure soul can retrieve my lover’s face from the demon.”

 _Face?_ Aang blanches at the thought. “What do you mean, _demon_?”

“Koh, is who I mean,” says Iktomi. “Koh, the Face Stealer.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iktomi is a Lakota trickster spirit; a shapeshifter that takes on human and animal features (most commonly the spider).


	29. Traditions

  
_(n) the handing down of statements, beliefs, legends, customs and information from generation to generation; a time-honoured practice._

**۵**   


“Koh the Face Stealer?” Aang frowns. “Why would he steal your, uh, lover’s face, and how can you use Katara’s soul to get it back?”

“Koh has always been envious that I can walk the earth above while he must remain here down below. It is why he steals faces. He covets what he cannot have.” Iktomi sighs and turns to the east, staring off in the distance. “For as long as I can remember he has hated me for my advantage and sought my face as retribution. 

“But I have always been too clever for Koh. Regrettably, though, my human lover was not. Koh lured Lakota to the water and stole her beautiful face.” Iktomi’s own features darken and he curls his long-fingered hands into fists. “Her faceless body is being held prisoner in his cave and I need someone with a pure heart in possession of a pure soul to make a trade, of sorts.” He turns to look at Aang, his face no longer menacing. “As a brother spirit I cannot enter his domain.”

Aang is silent, mulling over the spirit’s words, and frowns. “Wait, but you said all you needed was Katara’s soul. If you can’t confront Koh yourself then—” his grey eyes narrow in suspicion “—you needed someone like me all along to carry out your plan, didn’t you?”

“Clever boy.” Iktomi cracks a wide grin. “I knew you were friends with the girl—I had seen the three of you earlier—and I also knew you would come down here to retrieve her soul.”

“And Zuko’s,” Aang adds with conviction.

“Ah, yes.” Iktomi tents his fingers. “That is a far more complicated matter.”

“How complicated?”

Iktomi waves off Aang’s suspicious enquiry. “I will tell you more on that matter when you return with my dear Lakota—and her face.”

“And you plan on using Katara’s soul to do this?”

“This,” says Iktomi, removing the small crystal phial from his robes and holding it up to his eye, “is really only a small part of your friend’s soul; the purest part.” He notes the apprehension on Aang’s face and smiles. “Don’t worry, my friend. The girl should be quite all right for the time-being.”

“What?”

“It’s no matter—” Iktomi waves dismissively again “—because you are going to bring me back Lakota’s lovely face and return to your world above with your friend’s soul.” He hands Aang the phial and he carefully cradles it in his palms. “Right?”

“Right.” Aang squares his shoulders and nods. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

**۵ ******

“This isn’t what it looks like!” Sokka quickly informs the general, pointing to Zuko’s prone body before raising his hands in the air. “He was dead before I got here.”

“Sokka!” Katara swats her brother on the arm. “General Iroh, sir—”

“Who killed him?” The elderly man’s eyes are trained solely on Zuko, and Katara bows her head.

“I-I did.”

“You?”

“It was an accident,” she adds quickly. “A magic spell. But Aang is in the Spirit World right now. He’s going to bring him back.” 

Iroh’s bushy grey brow raises a fraction of an inch and the terrible sadness in his eyes has given way to curiosity. “Do you mind telling me about this magic you used to kill my nephew?”

Katara winces at his words and is about to answer when Sokka cuts in, “My genius sister here offered her soul to some Ikki guy for three wishes.”

“Ikki?”

“Sokka, that’s not—” Katara swallows hard, swaying on her feet “—that’s now how it—” 

“Katara!”

Vertigo seizes her in waves and Katara squeezes her eyes shut. She swears she can taste colour and suddenly she is free-falling. She doesn’t even feel the impact of her body hitting the ground. She is floating, soaring, drifting into another plane and into the darkness and—

**۵ ******

“Oh goody,” says a familiar voice, “you’re here.”

“Huh?” Katara sits up, holding her head in her hands. She feels groggy, like her head has been suspended in water. “Where am I?”

“Welcome to the Spirit World,” says Prince Zuko with a dramatic flourish, gesturing to their dour surroundings, and Katara blinks

“Spirit World?”

“Can’t put anything past you.” He clucks his tongue in annoyance. “I guess you’re dead now, just like me. So what did you do, wish yourself into an early grave? No, wait, that was my wish.”

“I used up my last wish by wishing you dead,” she says, ignoring his jeers as she rises to her feet. 

“Good to know that they didn’t go to waste.”

Katara finally takes in her surroundings, noting the sepia-coloured sky and the murky marsh to her left. She and Zuko seem to be standing on a stone platform; a large tree stands several yards behind them, along with a pile of rocks that resemble a cave.

“Aang’s here somewhere.” She peers past a bamboo grove in the distance. “I asked him to come here and find you.”

“Find me?”

“Yeah.” She glances over her shoulder at the prince. “To bring you back.”

Zuko’s mouth works soundlessly, as though shocked, and then a scowl settles on his features. “Well, I guess we’d better find him, then.”

The two begin to preamble about, not quite knowing where to go, so they head to the cave. The sound of a monkey screeching makes them stop, and the two turn to the base of the tree. A small monkey is sitting on the root with his back to them. 

“Hey, little guy,” Katara coaxes, getting closer. “What are you doing out here all alone?”

“Don’t touch it!” Zuko hisses. “It might be diseased.”

The monkey suddenly turns at the sound of their voices; its face seems to be eroded away, no longer visible. Both Katara and Zuko yelp in surprise and jump back, retreating as far away from the monkey as they can get.

“Where is his face?” Katara gasps. “Where the heck is his face!”

“How should I know!” Zuko barks. “Does it look I’m in charge of this place? I’ve been here just as long as you have!”

Katara snaps her head around and glares at the prince. “Tui and La! Would you stop being such a jerk!”

“Would you stop being such an idiot!”

“Why you little—” Her bony finger is already stabbing at his chest, but he grabs her by the wrist and yanks her close.

“Listen, peasant, we’re not going to find the Avatar by pointing fingers at one another. We’re gonna have to split up. You go this way—” he points to the east “—and I’ll go that way. After twenty minutes, we’ll meet back here, with or without the Avatar.”

He lets go of her hand and she cradles it to her chest. “Fine!” she growls, turning in the opposite direction.

“ _Fine!_ ”

**۵ ******

Aang makes his way across a line of wooden pylons to a huge gnarled tree. A monstrous coyote-like creature passes behind it and he freezes in terror. Once it disappears, Aang continues to the base of the tree where he spots a dark hole and approaches carefully. 

“Aang?”

“Katara!” Aang spins around at the sound of her voice and then stops when he sees a familiar scarred face standing behind her. “Zuko? What are you two doing here?”

“Well, I’m dead.” Zuko hooks a thumb in Katara’s direction. “All thanks to Miss Wishy Pants here.”

Katara glares at the Fire Prince and then turns to the Avatar, shrugging. “I dunno. I fell asleep and woke up here. Maybe it has something to do with Iktomi taking my soul.”

Aang frowns and lifts up the phial. “But I have your soul right here.”

“That’s your soul?” Zuko bends down and peers into the glowing crystal bottle.

“Maybe it’s just a part of it. Iktomi did say he only took the essence of it.” Aang frowns at the phial before tucking it back into his robes. “You must be down here because, well, you’re in transition.” He then points to the Fire Prince. “Sorta like Zuko here, except he’s dead and you’re probably just unconscious, in a meditative state like myself.”

“Great.” Zuko rolls his eyes. “So how do you plan on getting us back to the world above?”

“Iktomi told me he’ll give back Katara’s soul once I retrieve his, uh, lover’s face from Koh.”

Katara frowns. “Who’s Koh?”

“An evil spirit that steals peoples’ faces if they show the slightest hint of emotion,” Aang says, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

“I’ll go, then.” 

Katara turns to walk past the two boys when Zuko reaches out to grab her by the crook of her elbow, yanking her back. 

“You? I think not.”

“Yeah, I’m going to have to agree with him, Katara,” says Aang. “You don’t exactly hide your emotions well.”

Katara forcibly rips her arm out of Zuko’s grip. “Well, he’s not going, either! Mr Gloomy here. Gloomy’s an expression, y’know!”

Zuko grumbles to himself, “Mai would be perfect for this.”

“Who’s Mai?” Katara snorts. “Your girlfriend?”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“I’ll go.” Aang lets loose a weary sigh, sick of hearing the two of them argue. “Iktomi told me how to do it.”

Katara places a hand on the Avatar’s arm. “Good luck, Aang.” She glances over her shoulder at Zuko, waiting for him to wish the airbender luck, but Zuko only shrugs.

“Whatever.”

Aang then squares his shoulders once more and makes his way to the dark cave while Katara and Zuko wait outside, keeping look-out. The two stand silently beside one another, looking anywhere but at each other.

“So, is Mai your girlfriend?”

“That’s none of your business. Is the Avatar your boyfriend?”

“That’s none of _your_ business!” 

“Hmph!”

“ _Hmph!_ ”

**۵ ******

Aang descends the staircase into Koh’s lair. The cave is dark, though not pitch black. There is just enough light for him to find his way. Roots stick out from the ceiling but no creature stirs, not a sound.

“Hello? I’m, uh, looking for a spirit named Koh.”

As Aang says the spirit’s name some roots on the ceiling begin to move. Aang looks around, sensing movement, but sees nothing. Then a white face appears over his shoulder. It has grey patches around its eyes and full, blood red lips. The face is vaguely clown-like, and terrifying. 

Aang keeps his face impassive and suddenly the painted face moves, along with a huge centipede-like body attached to it. The white, clown face of Koh is only inches away from Aang’s.

“Welcome, Avatar.”

Aang’s face remains inscrutable as the demon spirit hangs from the ceiling in front of him. Aang bows with his hands clasped in front of him in a gesture of honour.

“Thank you.” 

Koh wheels around Aang to look at him from the back. His voice is low and melodic, almost purring, yet it oozes danger. “My old friend, the Avatar. It’s been a long time.”

“You know me?”

“How could I forget you?” Koh’s face changes from the clown mask to a middle-aged moustached man. “One of your previous incarnations tried to slay me. It was eight or nine hundred years ago.”

“I didn’t know that. Why did he—or I—try to kill you?”

“Oh—” his face changes to that of a beautiful young woman with chestnut hair “—it was something about stealing the face of someone you loved.” Koh’s face changes to a curly-tailed blue nose and he laughs cruelly. “Of course that’s all behind us now. Why should I hold a grudge against you for something in a past life? After all, you’re a different person now.” He sticks his fanged, monkey face up to Aang’s ear from behind. “You’ve come to me with a new face.”

Aang closes his eyes and breathes deeply as Koh wraps his body loosely around him.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve added a child’s face to my collection.” Koh’s face is now that of an owl. “So . . . how may I help you?”

“I would like for you to return Lakota, lover of Iktomi.”

“Iktomi!” In an instant Koh turns and bolts to Aang, pressing his face within inches of the young Avatar’s. Koh’s face has changed again from the owl to a blue ogre-like face with red eyes and huge fangs. “You dare speak his name in my presence?”

Aang closes his eyes briefly and then opens them to look at Koh. “Return her face to me or there will be more than just one face stolen from you today, Face Stealer.”

“You think you can threaten me, Avatar?” Koh rears himself up so that Aang must look up to see his face. “You have no power over me!”

“No,” Aang says, removing a small crystal phial from his robes, “but this does.”

Koh shrinks at the light and his blue ogre face fades away before Koh can escape back into the darkness. Aang looks down at the phial and a flash of the ogre face surfaces and then disappears, returning to its original owner somewhere out there. 

This is Iktomi’s magic; a pure soul that would take back the faces Koh has stolen.

“Give me Lakota and I will leave.” 

Koh outs on his white-masked face and recedes back into the shadows. Has the spirit just decided to hide? But Koh soon returns with the body of a beautiful young woman. She is faceless, like the animals that surround the spirit’s lair. Koh then looks directly at the woman, changing his face into that of a woman’s with long black hair and grey eyes. Suddenly Lakota has a face again and she turns to Aang. She is about to show some emotion when the Avatar points to the exit of Koh’s cave, instructing her to leave and wait outside.

“Do not count on our next meeting to go as well.” Koh’s face is now that of a snake and he steals back into the shadows.

Aang slips the phial back into his robes and turns to the exit. A few seconds later he emerges from Koh’s lair to find Katara, Zuko and Lakota waiting patiently. He lets out a huge sigh of relief, glad to be out of the cave, and looks down at his reflection in the water. 

He still has his face, thank the merciful spirits. But now is not the time to think about that. He has to return Katara and Zuko to the world above.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of Aang’s dialogue with Koh is taken from ‘Siege of the North: Part 2’.


	30. Atonement

  
_(n) reparation or expiation for sin._

**۵**   


Fear the quiet ones his uncle had always taught him. It is the quiet ones you can never predict, who come at you sideways instead of straight on. However, Zuko has learnt over the past three years that this logic doesn’t always hold true. By the same premise he should be considered a sociopath, but he isn’t (at least not that he’s consciously aware of). This peasant girl, on the other hand—the one with the very big mouth who is not afraid to use it—is all sorts of trouble and a very real exception to this rule. She is exactly the kind of girl that Zuko fears and now with good reason; she had got him killed.

Their journey back to Iktomi’s lair is fraught with tedium. There really isn’t much to look at or do in the Spirit World. The Avatar leads the way with the strange woman from Koh’s cave following closely on his heels while Zuko and the Water Tribe girl, Katara, linger back a bit. 

The girl is actually quiet for once and it’s slightly alarming. Zuko isn’t used to being in her presence without her running off at the mouth or threatening him. In fact, she appears to almost be reticent. Maybe she’s feeling guilty because she got him killed. But then she hasn’t made the effort to apologise or even talk to him, and he’s more than fine with that. He just wants to get out of this place and back to the land of the living.

The silence doesn’t last long because she eventually tries to engage him in conversation (some people just can’t stand silence). He ignores her at first. What do they have to talk about here—the faceless monkeys or the huge ass coyote that is bigger than a mountain? 

What exactly do they share in common? 

Well, he has been to the South Pole. He supposes he could mention how mind-numbingly cold and pointless it is there, but he suspects she might not take such observations kindly. So when it seems as though her chattering and not so subtle attempts at prodding him aren’t going to let up any time soon, he bluntly tells her to shut up. Needless to say, she loses it.

And now she’s shrieking at him, calling him a slew of names he’s never even heard before. He presses a hand to his forehead, as if to cram the emerging headache back into the depths of his brain. How is it even possible to get a migraine in the Spirit World? Trust his luck that the little peasant who killed him in the living world is now inflicting pain upon him in the underworld. 

He is about to voice this ironic observation, as well as tell this Katara girl to take a long walk off a short cliff, when he suddenly starts laughing. Laughing, for no reason at all other than he can. And now she’s looking at him like he’s sprouted a second head. That’s when he stops walking and doubled over with even more laughter, and she bristles with indignation. 

“What is wrong with you? You laugh like a madman, you know that?” She harrumphs loudly, folding her arms beneath her breasts. “Next you’re going to start revealing your plans for world domination.”

Zuko quickly sobers up at this and wipes the tears from his face. He has no idea what came over him and he has no time to dwell on what he terms Spirit World madness when the Avatar promptly announces that they have reached their destination. Rolling his eyes, Zuko glances up to see where exactly they have arrived at when he notices the massive and intricately designed silver spider web and the giant black spider guarding it.

“Whoa, that’s a big spider,” Zuko and Katara say in unison.

A beat later and the spider morphs into a tall, lean man with long black hair. He’s dressed in fine red and golden robes and his eyes, almond-shaped and amber in colour, widen at the sight of the beautiful grey-eyed woman standing next to the Avatar. She rushes to him and they embrace.

“Iktomi!” She nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Lakota.” He breathes her name like a prayer, folding her deeper into his arms. “My love, you have returned to me.”

After a moment the two finally separate, much to the teenager’s pleasure. Iktomi’s hand is gentle stroking Lakota’s cheek while she gazes adoringly into his eyes. It’s hard to say who is the most beautiful; the girl with her sleek black hair and grey eyes or the man-slash-spider with the impossibly handsome, painted face. 

“Avatar.” Iktomi regrettably turns from his beloved in order to face the airbender with a bow. “I thank you for returning my Lakota to me.”

“Uh, you’re welcome.” 

Iktomi returns his attention to his beloved, and the two simply begin staring at one another, speaking that unspoken language that lovers share. Aang turns away at the affectionate sight and begins nervously rubbing at his neck to the point where he is bound to be sloughing off skin. Zuko unceremoniously clears his throat, hoping to capture the spirit’s attention, while Katara folds her arms beneath her breasts and outright barks at Iktomi.

“Hey! What about my soul?” The waterbender impatiently taps her foot on the ground and there is a dangerous glint in her eyes. Should she really sport such a look when confronting a powerful spirit on his own turf?

“And mine,” Zuko adds, though not nearly as testily as Katara; however, he is not one to be forgotten or dismissed.

“Oh, yes.” Iktomi turns to the Avatar and motions for him to return the crystal phial containing Katara’s soul. Aang hands it over without preamble and Iktomi holds it up to the faint light, studying it with a frown. After a few seconds of the spirit’s intense scrutiny Katara begins to fidget, looking about to burst, and finally she does.

“What is it? What’s wrong with my soul?”

Iktomi glances over at Katara, a wolfish grin spreading across his lips. “Nothing.” He tosses the phial to her and she scrambles to catch it. “Just drink it and you’ll wake up.”

“But can I even drink anything in the Spirit World?”

Iktomi shrugs. “Sure, why not?” 

“But how does this restore her soul back on the surface?” The Avatar is scratching his head in contemplation.

“It doesn’t.” Iktomi’s grin seems to widen creepily. “Our contract was for the temporary loan of Katara’s soul. Once the obligations were met her soul would be returned to her.”

“Then why do I have to drink this?” Katara lightly shakes the small bottle at eye-level and Iktomi shrugs indifferently.

“You don’t have to. It’ll just return you to the surface faster—like a shock to the system.”

The Avatar breathes a sigh of relief, as does Katara. Now that everything is all fine and dandy for them there is only one small (or not so small) pony-tailed detail left.

“And what about me?” Zuko asks, causing everyone to turn in his direction. “What do I need to take?”

“Nothing.” Iktomi’s grin remains. “I’m afraid I have no elixir for you, young prince.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I cannot take back the wishes Katara made.” He motions to the waterbender. “They were part of the contract, which I fulfilled.”

Katara blinks in surprise. “W-what? You can’t take them back? But that leaves—”

“Me dead,” Zuko says flatly, and Iktomi nods.

“No, there has to be a way!” Aang looks panic-stricken and tears begin to well in his eyes. “There has to be a way to bring Zuko back.” 

Katara swallows slowly as guilt leadens her heart, and Iktomi draws an arm around his beloved’s waist. 

“There is a loophole in the contract.” The youths’ faces brighten with hope. “Should the contractor kiss her soul mate then her wishes will be made null and void.”

Zuko’s shoulders droop in defeat while Katara and Aang look befuddled. “What’s the reasoning for that loophole?” Katara asks, and Iktomi smiles, pulling Lakota in tight. 

“The reasoning is that if you’re lucky enough to find your soul mate, then you need nothing else in life.” He drops a kiss on the top of his beloved’s head and the others turn away in embarrassment at the affectionate display.

“So I only need to kiss my soul mate and Zuko will return to the surface?”

Zuko snorts derisively. “Yeah, _only_. That should be no problem, right?”

Katara tries her best to ignore the prince’s bitter tone but she doesn’t blame him. After a moment of awkward silence, Iktomi and Lakota bid the youths farewell. Katara and Aang watch them go while Zuko sulks on a nearby rock.

“Well, I guess I’ll go first,” Aang says. “See you on the other side, Katara.” He turns to regard Zuko with a look of pity in his bright grey eyes. “We’ll bring you back as soon as we can, Zuko. I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, picking up a rock and tossing it into the spider web. The silver threads clutch at the sediment, wrapping it up like it would a fly.

The Avatar makes his way over to the portal, turning back to wave before disappearing through. Katara heaves a heavy sigh and takes the seat next to Zuko on the rock. He shuffles over, intent on not touching her. She’s caused enough damage for him.

“Look, Zuko, I’m sor—”

“Don’t bother apologising.” He turns to face her so that their gazes lock. “I don’t want to hear your sorrys. I want you to go up there and find a way to bring me back.”

Katara is shell-shocked at first, but then a grin surfaces on her lip and she nods. “You’ve got it.” 

She tips the phial back, draining the dregs of her soul and waits. Maybe she should go to the portal like Aang did, but then a euphoric feeling sweeps over and through her and she feels like she is floating. 

As her spirit begins to drift up, Zuko yells, “You’re gonna kiss every guy you meet! Girls too; just in case!”

Then she disappears, and Zuko is left alone.

* * *


	31. Gravity

  
_(n) seriousness; weightlessness; solemnity._

**۵**   


A muscle works in her jaw and Katara tries very hard not to grind her teeth. The tension starts in her back and extends all throughout her body, weighing her down. She can’t move. The muscle ticking in her jaw seems to have moved its way to her right eye and it twitches uncontrollably as she tries to hold in her nerves at bay. 

Zuko is dead.

Zuko is _dead_.

And the only way she can bring him back from the Spirit World is if she kisses her soul mate. Not too difficult a task, right?

Wrong.

Her soul mate could be anyone, anywhere. It could take her years to find this man, or never.

“Katara?”

Aang is looking up at her with those wide grey eyes of his. She frowns. They’re all seated around Zuko’s prone body. All of them are looking at her expectantly. What is she to do? How can she fix everything? She got Zuko into this mess so she’s the one who should get him out, only—

“So who are you gonna kiss first?” Sokka asks, pointing to the crowd gathered in the village square, oblivious to the dead boy in the woods. “Obviously not me cause I’m your brother and that would be . . . well, I’m sure there are laws against that kinda stuff.”

Katara pulls a face.

“W-well, h-how about m-me?” Aang is blushing and rubbing the side of his neck so roughly that he’s bound to be sloughing off skin sometime soon.

“Kiss you?”

“Y-yeah. I mean it wouldn’t hurt, right?”

Katara shrugs lazily. “I guess not. This is all for Zuko’s benefit, after all.”

They all agree and Katara gets up and sits next to Aang. Sokka and Iroh turn away, giving the young couple their privacy, but not before Iroh drapes a handkerchief over his nephew’s eyes. Aang closes his eyes and leans forward and Katara tries her best not to laugh outright. But suddenly she feel self-conscious and a bit weirded out because, well, Aang’s like a younger brother to her and kissing him would be . . . weird.

She leans in and gives him a quick peck on the lips. She pulls back and Aang’s eyes flutter open. His eyes are glazed over and there’s a goofy grin on his face but Katara’s attention is fixed on the dead prince. She leans over and removes the handkerchief from his eyes but they’re still closed. His chest doesn’t rise or fall. He isn’t breathing. He’s still dead.

“Nothing,” Katara says with obvious disappointment, and Aang frowns.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

She points to the still very much dead Zuko and Aang’s eyes suddenly widen in understanding.

“Oh— _that_ nothing. I mean—uh, so what do we do now?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Well, whatever you decide to do I suggest you do it soon.” Sokka spins back around and points to the dead prince. “Zuko probably doesn’t have much of a shelf-life, being dead and all. He’s gonna start stinking up the joint pretty soon.”

At that point everyone scoots away a bit farther from the dead body and Katara begins to worry her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Might I suggest a novel idea?” Iroh asks, and Sokka turns towards the general.

“Yeah, I already told you—I’m not kissing my sister.”

“No, not that.” He waves his hand and then points to Zuko. “Why not try kissing my nephew?”

Sokka jabs a thumb in Zuko’s direction. “Him?” 

“ _Him?_ ”

Aang is on his feet when Katara sits him back down and stares levelly at Iroh. “You want me to kiss your nephew?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“Unless he’s a zombie,” Sokka adds conspiratorially.

Katara glares at her brother and then glances over at Aang, who looks panic-stricken at first but then slowly shrugs.

“You did tell him you’d try everything to bring him back.”

Katara sighs with a grimace and looks down at the dead prince. The silence in the air is thick and honeyed and she tries her best to keep her head anchored in reality. It’s just a kiss, a peck on the lips, she convinces herself. It doesn’t mean anything and it’s not likely to work but she should try anyway, for Zuko’s sake.

“Okay.”

Katara crawls over to the body and sits on her knees. She breathes in deeply, trying to settle her nerves. There’s nothing wrong with what she is about to do; she’s merely kissing a dead guy in the hopes of bringing him back to life. It won’t work, but she promised to exhaust all avenues. It’s only fair.

She tucks her hair behind her ears and hesitantly leans forward, bracing her hands on either side of his head. He looks so peaceful, like he’s sleeping and not dead at all. She swallows the lump in her throat and the butterflies in her belly and closes her eyes. Her lips barely graze his when she feels a tingling sensation, almost like a static discharge yet pleasant. His lips are warm and she feels an exhale of air from between them and she suddenly jolts upright in shock.

Zuko’s eyelids flutter open, revealing strangely golden irises like the hue of a brilliant sunrise. Light suddenly spills over his face, playing over his pale skin until it’s set aglow. The light accentuates everything on his face that she fears and loathes, from the sharp contrast of his scar against his otherwise flawless skin to the deep penetrating gaze of his burnished gold eyes; and yet for the life of her she cannot look away.

 _He_ is her soul mate?

Zuko, prince of the Fire Nation?

Her sworn enemy?

The man she sentenced to death?

_Him?_

Zuko sits up, or at least he tries but ends up falling back down. Katara just sits back on her knees, dumbstruck, so Iroh takes charge and helps his nephew sit up. Zuko clutches at his head in drowsy pain. The light from earlier is diminishing to a pale shimmer that is almost gone but still makes him appear more ghostly than corporeal.

“Ugh, my head. Where am I?” He glances around to see the forest and the village. The Avatar and the Water Tribe siblings are present and his uncle too. “Ah! I’m back!” He immediately rounds on the waterbender. “It’s about time you brought me back, I—wait a second!” His fingers flutter to his lips in shock. “Did you—me?”

“Uh-huh.” Katara nods slowly, still caught in a stupor. 

_Tui and La, now he knows._

The others are equally shocked while Iroh is grinning, patting his nephew on the back in a congratulatory fashion. Zuko meets the waterbender’s eyes and suddenly feels like fleeing or fainting; whichever comes first.

_Soul mate?_

_Soul mate!_

“Oh crap!”

Oh crap, indeed.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends the ‘Festival’ arc. I should have turned the Festival and Sublime arcs into chaptered stories. Why didn’t I again? Oh, right, this was for Zutara Month. Oh well. I hope you all enjoyed the arcs anyway. :D


	32. Steam

  
_(v) to give off or produce a warm vapour; (informal) to become very angry; fume; hot and or sexy (steamy)_

**۵**   


The bar’s entrance is marked by tendrils of blue smoke drifting outwards into the winter air, like a dragon’s cavernous maw. But it’s better inside than outside where the stinging mountain winds of Gaoling blast at you from every-which direction. Only fools and wildlife willingly stay outside when the November chill hits the air.

“I’ve never worn a dress,” Sokka’s voice booms, and Zuko groans before taking a shot. 

Aang and Toph share a laugh at the Fire Lord’s expense, which only causes Zuko to mutter angrily as he slouches down in his seat. 

“The Sunshine Prince wore a dress?” Toph snorts. “When?” Quickly followed by, “Why wasn’t I around to see it?”

“See it?” Katara laughs, smirking at the grumbling Zuko before drinking her own shot. “He had lost a sparring match with me a few months ago. The penalty was to wear a dress all day.”

“While conducting business as the Fire Lord _all day_ , I might add,” Zuko grumbles.

It’s bad enough that they’re slumming it in Gaoling’s Red Light district and worse yet that the gang managed to pick the seediest bars in town to drink at. But then it’s the only place where Zuko and the others can frequent without being recognised—that or the patronage simply doesn’t care. 

Why Zuko’s even here to begin with is because his lovely wife, Katara, insisted that they take a mini vacation to celebrate Toph’s birthday at her favourite bar playing her favourite drinking game, ‘I’ve Never’. But the real problem with this is that Zuko’s a lightweight when it comes to drinking, and so is Katara. 

The second problem, which is related to the first, is that when Toph and Sokka get together it signals nothing but trouble—for Zuko. The two got along like a proverbial house on fire. Both are youthful, cocky and more dangerous than they appear. Put in the same room together and they have a habit of laying waste to property and society at large. Put in the same room with a steady supply of alcohol and only one thing can happen: a drinking game.

“Next!” Toph slurs, throwing back her shot. 

Everyone mulls over their ‘I’ve Never’ and suddenly Katara’s grinning, looking in Zuko’s direction.

“I’ve never rehearsed a speech with a badger frog,” she says with a slight giggle, and Zuko glowers.

She just had to tell them about the frog.

“What’s this about a frog?” Sokka asks, sobering slightly as he sits up.

Katara tries her best not to cackle and fails.

Zuko growls. It feels like all of these ‘I’ve Never’ questions are always directed at him. Is he being punished for some reason?

“I’m not drinking any more,” Zuko says with finality, setting down his drink, and Toph scoffs.

“What are you saying? Can you not handle you’re liquor?”

“Yeaaaah, what kind of man are you?” Sokka accuses, and Aang tries to settle them down but they’re relentless.

“Well, if you don’t drink, you gotta do a dare,” says Toph, pointing her glass at him. “Them’s the rules.” 

Zuko’s frown deepens. This is a new rule to him.

“Okay . . . dare, dare.” Toph taps her lip and suddenly a light seems to go off inside her head. She jabs a finger in the waitress’s direction. “Prove you’re a man and go get that chick’s name for Aang.”

“And a date!” Sokka adds, much to Aang’s embarrassment.

Zuko groans, working the muscle in his jaw, before finally standing to his feet. Even if Toph and Sokka didn’t intend it, this dare will probably drive a wedge between him and Katara. The last thing he needs is his slightly inebriated waterbender-slash-bloodbender wife upset with him. 

So how is he going to get out of this? He can cave in and take the shot, but he wants to be able to walk back to his inn room without being carried bridal style by his equally inebriated wife. And all he wants to do now is go back to his room and cuddle with his wife. But Toph and Sokka won’t let him live this down if he doesn’t at least attempt the dare. But how is he going to flirt with another woman and not have Katara take off his head? He still has to at least present an image . . . of sorts.

“Ah, excuse me.” Zuko taps the waitress on the shoulder. “I require your name and a date quite urgently.”

The waitress gives him a funny look.

“It’s for a bet, you see.”

The look becomes less funny and more contemptuous.

“Uh, are you a thief? You appear to have stolen my heart,” he says, deadpan, and the waitress simply shakes her head and walks away.

The table behind him erupts in a symphony of raucous laughter, with Toph’s characteristic snicker standing out above the rest.

“Wow, Zuko, you struck out bad, huh?” Toph says as he sits back down.

“Yeah, Zuko,” adds Katara with an edge of drunken accusation in her voice. “Too bad.”

She takes another drink and glares. Zuko can practically see the steam coming out of her ears.

“It doesn’t concern me,” says Zuko with a casual shrug. “After all, I’m already in love with a thief.” He smiles at Katara and takes his last shot. “I’ve never known a woman who could claim to have stolen from pirates.”

Right on cue, Katara’s face flushes red. It’s partly because of the alcohol but mainly because Zuko had once admitted to her that he had found her beautiful even then, when he had saved her from the pirates.

“Although it’s hard to restrain myself when you look so alluring,” he says, cupping her chin. He can feel her juddering through his fingertips. “Perhaps we could change to a more suitable location, like our inn room, before my self-control is overwhelmed.”

Red-faced, Katara immediately stands up.

“Okay guys, Zuko and I are gonna turn in early tonight. We’ve got people to do—I mean nations to run. Politics, you know. Happy Birthday, Toph!” 

She quickly hugs the earthbender and then races over to the bar to pay their bill. All eyes then turn on Zuko.

“You lost on purpose,” Aang says with a little awe in his voice.

“Of course.” Zuko smirks, pushing away from the table. “Did you really think I’d let my wife murder me?”

They all laugh and Zuko excuses himself, wishing Toph a happy birthday and thanking them all for a fun evening. Bowing out, he catches up with his wife and exits the bar, intent on having a different kind of fun.

* * *


	33. Eve

  
_(n) evening, night; the period of time immediately before an event or occasion._

**۵**   


Night has fallen. It is the eve before Sozin’s Comet and Zuko and Katara are sitting together on the steps to the courtyard. Both inch closer to one another as they stare up at the star-studded sky. Katara glances up and smiles coyly as Zuko gazes down and . . .

 

 **ONE:** All right then, let’s put it to a vote. 

Five Zukos, each a manifestation of Zuko’s personality and conscious mind, congregate around a table and observe the scene playing out before them in real time. The first Zuko, One, stands up and calls for a vote.

 **ONE:** All those in favour of kissing Katara?

Two hands immediately go up, Two and Four’s.

 **ONE:** Those opposed?

One raises his hand, along with Three, while Five continues scribbling in the ledger.

 **ONE:** Five, please raise your hand to indicate your choice.

 **FIVE:** (continues writing) I’m the record keeper, so even though we’re in the middle of a meeting I must continue to perform my role.

 **ONE:** (sighs) We’re tied, so unless you cast your vote we can’t reach a decision.

 **FOUR:** One, why are you even against this?

 **ONE:** Because (slams hand down on table) it goes against my character! Katara’s my friend and Aang likes her.

 **TWO:** So what if Aang likes her? (shrugs) Who do _you_ like? Who does _she_ like?

 **ONE:** I just—I just refuse to do something like that.

 **TWO:** And yet you agreed to kiss that Jin girl.

 **FOUR:** Oh yeah, I remember her. (sniggers) Didn’t take much to swing your vote.

 **ONE:** (growls)

 **TWO:** One, I understand why you said no. You’re all about honour this, honour that. But Three (turns to look at Three), why are you so against it?

 **THREE:** Because.

 **TWO:** Because why?

 **THREE:** Don’t make me say it. (all four stare pointedly at him and he squirms under the pressure) Because I’m embarrassed, all right?

 **FOUR:** Aww, that’s so cute.

 **THREE:** Don’t say that to me with that face!

 **ONE:** Well, why are you all for it, Two and Four?

 **FOUR:** Because she’s hot and I’ve always had a crush on her!

 **ONE:** Always? Really?

 **FOUR:** Well, maybe not _always_.

 **ONE:** And you, Two, why do you want to kiss Katara now?

 **TWO:** Unlike you guys I’m actually reading the mood. (points) Look at her! Look at where we are!

 

They all turn to watch Katara’s smile turn coquettish. The starlight catches her eyes and she moves in closer.

 

 **FOUR:** (nods) Two’s right.

 **ONE:** Yeah, but what about Aang?

 **TWO:** Again, I ask you what about him? We’re Zuko’s consciousness, not Aang’s.

 **FOUR:** Ahh! (panics) She’s starting to turn away!

 **ONE:** We’ll vote again. Five, you must vote this time! (Five nods) Okay, those in favour of kissing Katara, raise your hand.

Two, Four and Five raise their hands.

 **TWO:** All right, Five!

 **THREE:** Five, are you sure about this?

 **FIVE:** (nods) Having examined the records, no other girl has captured our interest like Katara.

 **ONE:** Not even Mai?

 **FIVE:** (shakes head) Not even Mai. Considering our feelings, the mutual attraction and the atmosphere, kissing Katara seems logical.

 **FOUR:** (smiles) How romantic.

 **THREE:** (snaps) Stop saying those things with that face!

Four sticks his tongue out at Three, who glowers.

 **TWO:** Whatever, Five said yes so that’s three against five. The vote is in our favour.

Three suddenly stands up and hits the table with his fist.

 **THREE:** No! I refuse! I refuse to do it!

 **TWO:** Why?

 **THREE:** B-because—what if we get rejected? W-what about our honour?

 **TWO:** That’s One’s line!

 **FOUR:** (tsks) Three, you’re being too negative.

 **THREE:** Shut up, Four! (looks pleadingly at One) One, join me and make them shut up!

One suddenly raises his hand in favour of kissing Katara and Three blanches.

 **THREE:** Y-you’ve betrayed me?

ONE: I have simply acquiesced to the majority. I don’t like it any more than you do, Three, but as the leader I have to be able to tell which way the wind is blowing—and it’s blowing towards Katara.

 **THREE:** Traitor!

 **FOUR:** You’re such a sore loser.

 **ONE:** This is a majority vote, Three. There’s no other way.

 **FOUR:** Yes! Let’s do it. Let’s kiss her now!

 **TWO:** Wait, what is she doing? Is she backing away?

 **THREE:** We doomed! (tears at hair) She’s already rejected us!

 **TWO:** Shut up, Three!

 **ONE:** Oh, she’s looking up at us again!

 **TWO:** She’s leaning forward! (excited) She’s closing her eyes!

 **FOUR:** KISS HER! KISSSSSSSSSSS HER!

 **ONE:** (grabs Four and sits him down) Settle down, Four!

 **TWO:** Lean in, be smooth about, Zuko. C’mon, you can do this.

 **FOUR:** (excited) This is going so well!

 **ONE:** Wait, she’s opening her eyes. Was she just blinking slowly?

 **TWO:** She’s looking at us funny now.

 **FOUR:** This is awkward. (whines) She’s not saying anything.

 **THREE:** ABORT! ABORT! GET US THE HELL OUT OF HERE!

 **ONE:** Calm down, Three!

 **THREE:** Well, someone say something! This is so embarrassing!

 **TWO:** What _do_ we say?

 **ONE:** Five, look in the records for something. What were we talking about before our decision to kiss her?

 **TWO:** You don’t remember?

 **ONE:** No! Do you?

 **THREE:** (hopeful) Are we aborting the kiss?

 **ONE:** Of course we are!

 **THREE:** (sighs) Oh thank merciful Agni!

 **FIVE:** The records show that the last thing we were talking about was . . . meat.

 **ALL FIVE ZUKOS:** . . . ?

 **TWO:** Meat?

 **FIVE:** Yes, Katara was laughing about our meat trip with Sokka.

 **THREE:** How the hell did we get in the mood to kiss her in the first place?

 **TWO:** Who cares? What do we do now?

 **FOUR:** Someone say something! Say _something_!

 **ALL FIVE ZUKOS:** . . .

 

“Meat.”

Katara blinks twice and glances up at Zuko. “Did you just say _meat_?”

 

 **FOUR OUT OF FIVE ZUKOS:** . . . ! Meat? Who said that?

They all turn to look at Two.

 **THREE:** Two? What the hell were you thinking?

 **ONE:** Idiot! (smacks Two upside the head) Don’t talk directly into the mic when it’s on!

 **TWO:** Oww! (rubs head) Saying nothing wasn’t getting us anywhere.

 **THREE:** What do we say now? WHAT DO WE SAY NOW? She’s looking at us like we’re an idiot.

 **ONE:** (mutters) We are an idiot.

 

“I’m hungry.”

 

 **FOUR OUT OF FIVE ZUKOS:** . . . ? FOUR!

 **ONE:** Four! Don’t just talk when the mic’s on!

 **FOUR:** But I’m hungry! All this talk of meat! I want MEAT!

 **ONE AND THREE:** Idiot!

 

“Are you—did you want to get something to eat?” Katara asks, perplexed.

 

 **ALL FIVE ZUKOS:** . . .

 

“Ah, yeah. Do you mind?”

Katara laughs. “No, not at all. I’m hungry, too. I got some groceries earlier this afternoon. Although we should probably cook the meat outside so that Sokka doesn’t smell it and steal it from us.”

 

 **ONE:** Eh? She doesn’t want to invite the others?

 

“You don’t want to invite the others?”

“Nah.” Katara shakes her head and smiles. “I don’t want them ruining our quality time together.”

“Ah yeah, me too.”

 

 **ALL FIVE ZUKOS:** (collective sigh of relief)

 **TWO:** Well, we might not have succeeded with the kiss but she definitely seems interested.

 **FOUR:** Yeah, we’ll just try again another time.

 **ONE:** Three, are you satisfied with this?

 **THREE:** Yes, I think I might be willing to try again at a more opportune time.

 **ONE:** Five?

 **FIVE:** I agree. We had a nice moment. No need to tempt fate.

 **ONE:** Okay, so our help isn’t needed anymore. We’ll adjourn until the next crises.

 **THREE:** Oh thank Agni. (slumps in seat) I’m exhausted.

 **FOUR:** I’m hungry.

 **TWO:** Until next time, (nods) then we’ll definitely get the girl.

 **ONE:** Meeting adjourned.

 **FIVE:** Recorded Memory: ‘The Almost Kiss Dilemma’ with Katara on the eve of Sozin’s Comet at the summer palace on Ember Island.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends the ZM prompts. Finally.


	34. Bounty Hunter

“I’ve thought about this moment for many years,” she murmurs, flicking her wrist as she held him in place.

He tries to look disinterested. 

“How sad for you.”

“You Fire Nation scum are all the same,” she says, enunciating each word as she slowly freezesthe blood in his veins. “I’ve often thought about what I’d do if I ever had you at my mercy.”

Zuko doesn’t answer. He only continues to stare at her with that infuriating, insolent gaze of his.

“And here I have you,” she purrs, raking her nails across his chest until they come away bloody. “The banished prince.”

Zuko internally winces at her tone, how casually she uses his title, tainting it. He is finally able to turn his head and catch her eye. She looks a bit mad. There’s something slightly unhinged about the way she moves, the way she looks, the dangerous gleam in her blue eyes.

“And now that I have you all to myself, you’re going to sit here while I enjoy this.”

That is when he laughs at her. “Really, Bounty Hunter? Is this your revenge?” He stares at her defiantly. “You know I’m worth nothing to you dead.”

Katara’s lips curve into a devilish grin. “Who says I’m going to kill you?” 

His golden eyes flicker in the lamplight, still hard and defiant, looking at her as though she is nothing, means nothing. In that moment his face resembles many—so much like the men who have ruined her life, who have used and abused her. 

Something unnamed and awful then rises up inside her and she gives into her baser instincts. Reaching her hand back, Katara hits Zuko as hard as she can across the face. 

Tactile release.

This is only the beginning.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously this is AU, and at some point I might expand on this. Katara the Bounty Hunter. It’s got a nice ring to it. ;)
> 
> *For now this collection is listed as complete, until the next Zutara Month or Week or whenever an idea pops into my head. Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed. :)


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